


My Life in Music

by WanderlustandFreedom



Category: Grojband
Genre: Asexuality, Canada, Crushes, F/F, F/M, Family, Feminism, Fluff, Growing Up, High School, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jealousy, Live Events, Mentions of Taylor Swift, Music, No Romance, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Real Life, Secrets, Songwriting, World Travel, Writing, band kids, hard choices, original lyrics, yesIwrotethese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 23:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 66,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15278688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderlustandFreedom/pseuds/WanderlustandFreedom
Summary: Laney Penn's life is turned a full 450 degrees on its head when her cousin drops into her life. Her crush keeps looking the other way and sometimes she feels like her cousin is worth so much more than her. Their tiny band lands a gig on national TV, and she's not sure how much longer she can keep balancing the scales of her life. The months go by and Laney is changing and growing up. As she learns more about the world and the people in it, she learns to see things in herself and others she never thought could exist. Loosely based off of Grojband, the Canadian Cartoon.





	1. Rachel without Jacob, Joseph, or Laban

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my 8-month project! I understand Author Notes are one of the most boring, irritating things, but I wish to inform you I will be listing Disclaimers and Easter Eggs for each chapter in each. Also: poll up on my profile.
> 
> This story is meant to show real problems our high-schoolers go through, and also to expose several parts of society that are little talked about: the asexual people/those who do not wish for relationships, the teenagers who are trying to be adults and grow up, and the young people who work hard with their talents. Featured in this story will be several types of physical-bordering-on sexual assault, a glossed-over featurette of a rape, small mentions of drugs, major sadness/stress and a suicide near the end. Rated T due to falling in-line with that rating's qualifications.
> 
> Everything has already been typed up, so you don't need to worry about this being discontinued. The original work, Grojband, which first aired on Cartoon Network, is unowned by me. Consider me a child building a sand castle on someone else's beach.
> 
> Special thanks to each of my beta readers Angelhunter1901, Clairvoyant Teen17, ElysiaWaterchild, Freelance360, Iconic Bubbles, Kamjie Celeek, Kid-of-Percabeth, L.E-Rae, Million Arthur The Yuri King, Miraculous Marauder, OnihumoExplosionsInc, Project-story-board, Silverskrill Elysia, SolsticeSummerMoon06, ThatRollingStone, TheGirlyDJ, Vartron, YouYou098, ZilverHope, elorlan, starspangledfeels, and thelegitlazycow2.0. I know, long list. These people are amazing. They were kind, honest, and gave useful tips and pointers. I've read a few of their stories as well, and I fully recommend each of them because they are all talented, spirited individuals. So grateful I could rely on each of them to pick out things to fix. Thanks, you guys!

**A breath of fresh air is understanding a problem. Learning you have a problem is like losing the ability to breathe. The good news is this: One always follows the other in balance, and afterward you learn to use the air and sing.**

My Saturday begins with the smell of bacon and eggs and the sound of gentle knocks at my white bedroom door. At some point in the night, half the pale sheets on my bed ended up on my threadbare carpet. A plush blanket which smells of popcorn squeezes my neck and tries to suffocate me for all I've ever done to it. I untwist it and toss it onto the floor with the rest of my sheets. At the end of the day, I'll throw them back onto the bed and bury myself in the mound.

"Yes?" I call at the person knocking. The door isn't locked, but if the person on the other side knows what's good for them, they won't come in. My room is strictly off-limits.

"Laney!" My mom calls from the other side. "It's time to get up! Come on, we have to get a move on!" A thought tickles in the back of my head. A desk worker in my head begins to work through a stack of paperwork, to try to find what I need to remember. I am too tired to care much. I try to reach the ground from my bed, but like every other day, my toes swing three or four inches from my musty carpet.

I love my carpet. It's filled with scraggles that tickle in-between my feet. Whenever I lay down on it, I can get up and there'll be a Laney-imprint. And it smells like petrichor, which I love.

My name is Laney. I'm fifteen, whiter than a wedding dress, and short. I have red hair and really dark green eyes. There's not a ton of stuff that makes me unique, but I am in a band with my three best friends: Kin, Kon, and Corey. I play tons of instruments but stick mostly to my bass. Sometimes I'll sing, but most of the time we let Corey, our main-man, rule.

My room is dusty. I haven't pulled back the curtains since summer began and that was almost three months ago. Clouds rise when I rush by too fast and the blue wall paint has cobwebs in the corners. I'm just too lazy to clean them out. The canopy over my bed is crooked but I can't bring myself to care. I run a hand through my wiry, tangled red hair and yawn. My breath jolts me straight from sleepwalker to half-awake. My breath could kill a goat. Heck, it could kill a decaying corpse twice over. I cover my mouth and open the door to my bedroom before I shut it behind me as fast as I can. My bedroom door is covered in layers of cheap black-and-yellow police tape that I hung up years ago. There's also a large red KEEP OUT sign and a hook where my mother puts things she wants to be put in my room.

I rush into the bathroom, brush my teeth, and manage to not trip as I walk down the stairs to the hallway. I forget to miss the stair that squeaks, and a sound rings out that makes me cringe. Okay, okay, I'm awake.

"Stair Laney!" Mom calls to remind me from the kitchen.

"Sorry, Mom!" I yell back.

I stumble into the kitchen and fall into my chair at the bar. Dad opens his mouth to reprimand me, but Mom pinches her lips and glares. He snaps his mouth shut; that's strange. Dad shrugs off my entrance and goes back to his coffee. Mom pushes a plate towards me and plops down a mug of coffee. "Thanks, Mom," I say as I pick up the mug. She never adds the creamer or sugar, but she makes me a mug of coffee every morning. Most of the time it's her and me. Dad does these on-again, off-again diets. He'll decide it's healthier for him to not drink coffee, then have a mug anyway. Unlike most kids' mothers, it's my father who likes to budget, clean and keep track of his pounds.

Mom's more chill than most kids my age. She takes whatever life wants to throw at her and handles it all with an air of "bring-it-on." In her twenties, she played the clarinet in a jazz band and traveled the eastern United States. But before the group could hit big money, she decided she didn't like jazz and quit. She sold her clarinet and started a flower shop, which she also later sold.

She met Dad in a church choir before they both decided they hated church. They were in Louisiana at the time, but Dad wanted to go to California and Oregon, and Mom wanted to get out and go places. A giant road-trip began and ended when they fell in love somewhere around Kansas. They got through Mormon Utah and decided to get married in Las Vegas.

Dad decided he didn't want to go to California and Mom agreed, so they plopped their butts in Vegas and both got jobs. Mom ran someone else's casino for them and Dad got hired on in a music company as a talent scout. After being stable for about two years, Dad's work started to move him places. Mom quit her job and went with him on all sorts of adventures.

They lived in South America, New York, England and even a place called Turkmenistan while Dad traveled with his company. The traveling only stopped when Dad slipped down a set of concrete stairs and broke his back. Since they were in Peaceville at the time, Mom and Dad both said: "What the hell" and got Canadian citizenship. Here they settled and here they stayed. Dad stayed with his company but moved to a more stable branch. Mom took up dozens of new skills and turned this house into our home. Filled with treats, pictures, and lights. It always smells like apples here because that's her favorite scent. And after all that, she started a second business.

I was born at the start of my Mom's golden years. She never gave motherhood a thought before she got pregnant. I sometimes doubt if she knew she was pregnant. It could be she never noticed any difference until she was in the hospital and someone put me in her arms. Even then, things never clicked. Mom is a great mom and an even better multitasker. She has her business, is on the PTA and City Council, and even writes newspaper articles sometimes. But it has always been clear this is not her stronghold. She works hard to keep business separate from home, separate from hobbies. I've never seen her work at home. She's also content to back off and let me do my own thing. I can do whatever the bloody hell I want so long as I didn't do any illegal stuff. Dad isn't half as laid-back as Mom, but he also isn't home a lot so it's fine. Kin and Kon's mom is similar to mine, but her entire world revolves around her sons and their older sister. Karen is so old I've never met her. She's off at college and comes around when the winter breaks start. Medical student. Corey is, of course, adopted along with his older sister Trina, so we all come from different starts.

My brain starts to kick into action around my fourth bite of oatmeal. The tickle in the back of my head picks up again. I start to notice things. Dad wears a nice light-blue button-down with a navy tie. His car keys swing from the pocket of his nicest jeans. His black hair, thicker when I was young, has been combed to the texture of silk. Mom's red hair hangs down in soft curls with a little braid across the top of her head. She wears a blue leather jacket that stops at her rib cage and she's tied a blue ribbon at an angle across her neck. She also wears blue jeans from some fancy store.

It's a Saturday in early September. Peaceville lies asleep to recover from the tremendous effort of sending their kids back to school. I can't imagine why they're dressed this nice.

The office clerk passes a note under the door between the two parts of my brain: conscious and subconscious.

Mom strolls back into the room. She's taller than dad because of the plastic blue wedges she wears.

"Laney, I hung your outfit on your door, would you like me to do your makeup or are you going without any today?" Mom asks as she picks up the egg pan and fills up the sink with dirty dishes and hot water.

"Mom," I groan as the pieces click. I sound like a piece of my soul has died. "It's portrait day?"

Portrait day is the day our relatives flock to have their likenesses captured in photos. Mom says it's her duty to make sure she records our existence in visual likenesses. Every year she arranges a Facebook event before she prods Dad and me to the car for the family photo shoot. It arrives weeks later in a beautiful frame on a pretty canvas; photoshopped for our convenience.

Pictures aren't the worst experience on the planet, but the relatives who plan their vacations to Canada around this event are. My great aunts are bad in particular. They pinch my cheeks and try to wipe the makeup off my eyes.

Mom looks at me in sympathy. "I'm sorry love." She says. If I sound like my soul's died, she sounds like she kicked a puppy. "But we gotta do it. M'kay?" I nod with a solemn attitude and finish my breakfast. Mom whisks it away before I can carry it to the sink, so I wipe down the counter before I climb up the stairs.

On my door hangs an outfit. For once it doesn't burn out my eyes. In previous years it was itchy sweaters and a plaited skirt, but this year Mom's found a shirt with the word 'No!' on it. There's a vinyl skirt, with scary black lace tights attached underneath. Once I stand in front of the mirror with it on, I decide it doesn't look too bad either.

Mom knocks on the door and asks if I'd like a dark blue choker she got from her store. After helping me put it on, she also does my makeup. Blue shadows around my eyes and eyeliner on the top lids. I look in the mirror and try to push out my chest. I still look like a boy. No hips, no butt, no boobs. Flat as a board, pencil straight, up and down.

Mom notices me looking, and smiles. "You look good no matter how you're built." I shrug and duck my head to hide the pink which creeps into my cheeks, but mutter: "Thanks, Mom."

Mom isn't a Victoria's Secret model by any stretch of the imagination, but she does have a pretty face. Me? I can't say the same. My looks come from Dad.

At 9:09, Mom shuts off all the lights and pulls all the blinds shut. It's her subtle signal to Dad and me to head out to the car. She locks all the doors and leaves the front door for Dad to close. When I clamber into the car, she turns and stares until I grab my seat-belt and click it into place. I give her a double thumbs-up and she returns the sign with a smile. Dad climbs in after a few minutes of delay and turns the key in the ignition. Mom's Jazz station comes on, but she pressed a few buttons and slid our band's CD into the disk slot.

"Yes!" I pump my fists and start to move to the beat of the first song. In front of me, mom does the same. Dad watches us both with a skeptical eye. Mom leans over and nudges him before she reaches up and puts her hands in her earrings. She has this favorite pair of great huge gold loop earrings. They're so big she can loop her hands through them and wear them as bracelets when her ears start to hurt. Her red hair, thin and wiry like mine, bunches up in her hands but never tangles. She rolls down her window as she pulls her hands back down, and the rest follow as Dad takes a hint. The wind cuts through his dark hair and his square glasses slide up a few inches. It rushes through our hair and makes us all look like wind-blown celebrities. The music soars louder and louder because Mom, like me, loves the idea of no thoughts when there's a beat.

Corey's smooth voice seems to click with the atmosphere in the car. He plays low chords which makes your hairs stand on end. I smile. His voice is one of my favorite sounds. There's a pause, and then screams come through the speakers. I pick out my own voice for a second before it cuts off and the song ends. Mom smiles in her rear-view mirror.

"What a beautiful song Laney!" She calls. I give her another double thumbs-up and she returns it again with a bright smile. Dad smiles back and says: "Great job with the band Laney. You look nice today, by the way." It's his way to say "you look decent today, and not like you were born in a Goth shop.

It takes about an hour before we make it to the little country lane where we always have our family photos taken. Cars are already lined up alongside the road, relatives scattered to and fro. Most of them wear tacky pink or white, which looks dumb since our entire family tree is white as paper. Besides, red and black are the only hair colors which exist in our gene-pool. Except for five or six brunettes.

Dad stops the car and opens the door for both mom and me. She smiles and kisses his cheek, I thank him. No sooner has Mom taken two steps out, a flock of red-headed relatives comes over to talk to her.

Mom and Dad both come from large, noisy families. Filled to the brim with whiny children and toddlers. Mom isn't ignorant of children, but they've never been second nature to her. No wonder she high-tailed it out to her jazz band thirteen hours after she was 16. Her parents had thirteen children plus her, and they lived in a five-bedroom house. She shared a room with her two sisters and fell asleep every night as she heard them stalk boys.

Dad's family is the runner-up in siblings, but the king of cousins. With all his aunts and uncles, he has fifty-two cousins. There must be at least a hundred people here. It's good this photographer has worked with us for years and has long since begun to expect this. As three boys walk up in brown button-downs and slacks, I take a detour around mom. I cut through a group of aunts who bicker about the United States and thread my way out of the crowd. Boy, was I glad I didn't live in the States. In a corner of the park is a bench, near a trail where people like to hike on days my family doesn't show up to take photos. I plop down and take out my cell phone. I text the band's group chat: "Wassup guys?"

Corey's icon blinks down to read mine, then "Nm, where u at?" appears on the screen. I sigh.

"Stuck large-scale family reunion. Sorry, will miss band practice."

Kin and Kon's icons both blink down at the same time before Kon says: "I didn't know you had a family?"

I stare in disbelief at the screen until Kin says: "Of course she has a family! What, did you think the universe willed her into existence?!"

I decide to chime in: "Ya Kon, only about five thousand people on each side. My dad has 52 cousins!" Kin, Kon, and Corey's new messages all come through at the same time:

'o'

A shadow falls over my lap as Corey starts to type something. Kon has already begun to defend himself. "Well, I know she has a mom and dad, but I kinda thought... the universe announced, 'Let there be Laney's parents." I roll my eyes and glance up to see the newcomer.

The shadow belongs to a teenager who looks much older than me. She's blonde and slender, and so tall her shadow already touches my arms though she's a few feet away. She's locked giant, pink, preppy heels in place over her toes, and she walks like they are tennis shoes. A pink shirt crosses her shoulders and dips down across her chest. She wears bling shorts which end about two inches past her knees.

If my great aunt sees her, she'll die of a heart attack. The newcomer is as pasty white as the rest of my family, but the gold shine of her hair forces her to stand out. She wears a ton of makeup, but I could rival her if today were any other day.

The girl nods at the spot on the bench next to me. "Is this seat taken?" She asks. Her voice sounds like Snow White's from the old movie. High pitched, like a chirp. I shake my head yes and the newcomer sits down. She crosses her legs and I can't help but stare at the pink spikes which adorn the bottom of her shoes. There's a laptop under the crook of the girl's arm. She pulls it out and opens the top. A word document is already open on the screen.

"What's your name?" The stranger asks as she starts to type up another paragraph. I don't see the words, but I do see the page number.

"Three-hundred-and-eighteen pages!" I gasp. The stranger glances over with lazy eyes.

"That's quite the name, isn't it?" I return to earth, flustered.

"Oh, um, no. Sorry, I'm Laney." I hold out my hand, and the stranger takes it with a smile.

"Well hello Laney, I'm Rachel."

Rachel looks like a movie star. She's the prettiest girl I've had seen outside of a magazine. Even Trina can't compare. Rachel's let her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, where it sways and bobs. She has green eyes, one more trait I've never seen in my family. A splatter of freckles decorates her cheekbones. She wears a coat of lip gloss, and she gives off an aura which tells everyone she's nice, confident, and sassy.

Rachel turns back to her computer screen. She doesn't type right, I notice. She chicken-scratches her way across the keyboard.

"I'm to stay in Peaceville for a while – Do you live around here? Or are you here for pictures?" Rachel asks. Her eyes remain on the keyboard as she types. Red, zig-zag error lines appear onscreen.

"Naw, we live here. My family kind of hosts the whole thing." I respond as I glance back at my phone screen. No one has sent any messages, and now the chat is dead. They haven't been online for two minutes. I sigh and close my eyes as I lean back onto the bench.

"Oh, so are you the Penns? Or do you know of them?"

"Yeah, my family," I reply with my eyes still closed.

"Okay, cool. I'm with you guys then."

Her comment garners my attention. I open my eyes. "What?"

"Well, I can't be sure, my dad arranged it all, but yeah. He told me I'd be hanging with the Penns for a few months." Rachel informs me. My head starts to spin. Did I miss the memo? I go back through my memory with a fine-toothed comb. Mom changed the sheets in the guest room last laundry day. She bought extra groceries and last night I heard her vacuum. It isn't a big deal because Mom tends to tire of her office, so she'll sometimes adopt the guest room for a while. It doesn't happen often, but when it does Mom leaves fruit and drinks out for herself to nip off while she works. I was always away at school or with the band. She doesn't do work when I'm around.

"Oh," I say with a rush of air. Rachel glances my way.

"Oh? Did – did you not know?"

I shake my head no in response. Why did I not know? The girl's cheeks turn from pink to red.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't realize…." She trails off and turns back to her computer. An awkward silence forms for a few seconds. I shrug after a few seconds.

"It's whatever." I murmur. It isn't like I'm home a lot anyway, with the band and school and such. But do I want to have a stranger in my home? She doesn't know any of the unspoken family rules; what if she goes into my room?

I shudder and make a mental note to educate Rachel A.S.A.P.

"There you are!" A voice comes. Both Rachel and I look up to see Mom appear. I open my mouth to respond, but mom goes straight to Rachel and puts two hands on her shoulders. Rejection fills me.

"Hello Rachel, it's nice to meet you!" She greets her. So, it's true. I muse. A stranger from someone else's family will stay with us. Now the question is: how long? Mom turns and notices me.

"Laney." She says in a delicate voice like she's afraid I'll break her, or she'll break me. "This is your Dad's cousin's daughter. Do you know Uncle Matthew?" I shake my head.

"Well, he's your Grandfather's brother Will's son. And then Matthew is Rachel's dad here. She's arranged to stay with us for a while."

I nod with a sigh. "Yeah, I know. Anyone else I should be aware of?" Mom shakes her head and looks apprehensive.

"We've set up the spare bedroom for Rachel. You haven't met her before because her parents lived in…" She trails off in thought. "Where was it? Guatemala? Cuba?"

"Honduras," Rachel informs us with a hushed tone.

"Yes, right, Honduras for a few years. She was born in California and resided in Utah for a while. They went south when she was ten to Central America and now she's…" She looks back at Rachel.

"Seventeen," Rachel says. I blink in surprise. She looks twenty.

"Dancing Queen," I say to cover my shock.

"Magic outside of Hogwarts." She smiles a little.

"What?" I ask. Rachel's shoulders slump. Did I miss a cue?

"Anyway…" Mom jumps back in. "She's come over from Europe with her father to see Canada and slow down for a little bit. So, her Dad gave your dad a call and now here we are." I nod and pretend I already know all this and the action takes some wind out of her. She must be nervous. She's not always so much of a talker.

Mom brushes her red locks along the side of her face and sighs. "Um, it's time for pictures Laney." I nod and tuck my phone down the front of my shirt. Mom stares but doesn't say a word. Rachel snorts, and I see her stuff away a smile as she turns back to her laptop. Anger rushes through me. Who is this girl, to surge into my life? Mom pats Rachel's shoulder and we turn away together. Didn't mom see her laugh at me?

I walk with Mom to find Dad. He's surrounded by brothers and cousins. He looks annoyed and doesn't complain at all when Mom pulls him out from under his cousin Neil's arm. Dad's cousins come in all shapes and sizes, the oldest fifty-seven and the youngest two. It looks like he'll have a new one soon though. One of his aunts, who is twenty-seven and has nine children (I'll let you do the math.) has a big, round belly. She pats it and talks to it. It's weird.

We battle our way through my aunts. Some of them pinch my cheeks though Mom tries her best to protect me. The photographer arranges us to his fancy and takes thousands of photos of us. My aunts stand behind him as he works. They screech at me to smile and tell me I look too pale. It sucks.

He waves to the side at last, and I heave a sigh of relief.

As I walk past, someone grabs my arm and hauls me up to their eyes to inspect me. My great-Aunt Bessie. She scowls at my face and says: "Laney, I don't mean to prod, but why do you wear so much makeup?" I sigh.

"Nice to see you too, Aunt Bessie."

"Now watch your tone young lady. You don't need to be so rude. And good heavens girl, your makeup!" She shakes her head in disapproval. Her two chins wobble. "You look like a prostitute with all that gunk on your face." She growls.

"Mom!" I call, but she's up ahead, where it looks like she's stuck in a conversation with my aunts. She can't hear me. My toes wave off the ground. Bessie lifts me up with one hand, a feat for an 80-year-old lady and tries to rub my face.

"Aunt Bessie!" I squirm. Someone else grabs my arms and hoists me out from Aunt Bessie's grip.

"Bes, I tell you every year to leave the poor girl alone," Dad says as he smooths over my clothes. "You shouldn't nag her so much." Beside him is Rachel, who glares slits at Aunt Bessie.

"You're her father! You ought to make sure she doesn't leave the house inappropriate! Girls like her are supposed to set examples for the young men." I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I like the way I am, but dear-old-Aunt Bess is still stuck in the stone ages.

"Who says her outfit's for any boy?" Rachel asks, tone clipped and words brittle. Her words mislead since I do pine after Corey, but how is she supposed to know? Aunt Bess turns her eyes to her and almost dies of a heart attack. As I predicted.

"Oh, my goodness-gracious what are you wearing? You might as well walk around in your underwear for all the world can see." Aunt Bess exclaims. Rachel folds her arms across her torso, which doesn't work out well for her since her shirt rides lower as she does.

"I ought to." She says. "And I'd do it where you could see it too, you old cow." I sputter with laughter, and Aunt Bessie turns a cool shade of orange. She's so old, she doesn't go red anymore. Orange is the most scarlet she can blush. Sure, it was mean of Rachel, but it was funny too.

"Now… now!" Aunt Bess says in a strangled tone like she has someone who presses down on her voice box. "Now, how can you expect to become a respectable lady if you talk like such? With a nice circle of friends and a family?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "I have a family. They're a little spread out, but my family still."

Bess performs an excellent rendition of the adult sigh. "I meant a husband, children, young ones. You don't understand now, but the same boys you chase now will one day want to marry you. You must leave some to the imagination!" She wraps her arms around Rachel's shoulders. She looks like a peachy bat which hangs off Rachel.

Rachel sighs. "No, I'm not interested in marriage. It's not for me."

One surprise after another. I've never met a relative like Rachel before. For one, her appearance. Blonde, tall, thick hair, green eyes, and curvy. And the way she carries her laptop around, with its million-page word document. No one in my family writes. You could say word brains never found their way to us. Mom kept a journal for five days in her teens, and it's so ineligible you can't read it now. She did publish two books, but they never took off. And now… shouldn't she want a husband? Marriage, a family? She doesn't care? Everyone I know wants marriage… at least someday. Even Corey, Kin and Kon talk about the big "One Day". I've never met someone who remarked: "No, not for me."

It looks like neither has Aunt Bess. She goes chalk-white, sputtering. "Why - What! But that!" I sense a small explosion and take Rachel's arm to pull her away. Dad watches us go with wide eyes. My mind still struggles to make sense of Rachel's words.

She must have meant right now, at the moment. It's not a priority. She must want to just hang out. Will she attend school with me? If so, she could date the better half of the high school before Winter Break. I wince at the thought. I've never been on a date before.

"Well," I try and make conversation after several minutes in silence. "You know how to start a party."

"I couldn't stand by and watch her pick on you."

"Yeah, she does it a lot," I answer. I trip over a purse another cousin has left on the ground. Rachel steps over it.

"How long do these things usually last?" She asks. I shrug.

"Two or three hours-" She winces. "At the least" I continue. She sucks in a breath.

"Ouch. Think your mom would mind if we left?"

I shrug. "She wouldn't mind, but I don't have a car and I don't quite have my license yet."

"I do. Have a car and a license, I mean." She laughs. "Course it's not a Canadian or American license, but I'm sure they'll understand. After all, I arrived here this morning." She laughs. Even her laugh is pretty, like bells.

"How do you already have a car?"

"We purchased it ahead of time. I wasn't sure how big Peaceville was." Rachel tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder and turns to me. "Do you want to ask your mom? We can go somewhere and then see if I can obtain a Canadian license? I'll even pay for food."

She itches to leave this crowd. She's as awkward as I am in a scene like this. I watch her tap her foot, and then I pull my phone out of my shirt. I text mom, and as usual, don't have to wait long. She responds with a simple thumbs-up emoji, and I tuck my phone back down my shirt.

"She said yes," I tell Rachel. Rachel pumps her fist into the air to revel her simple victory before she pulls some keys out of her front pocket. A piece of what looks like a homemade friendship bracelet is on it. Purple.

We cross the field in seconds, and she clicks the keys twice. One car makes a sound. A small, blue Volkswagen Scirocco. She opens the door for me, which no one besides my dad has done before, and when I climb in it all smells new. Rachel pops open the driver's door as I adjust the height on my chair. She tosses the keys into the center console and then hits the start button. Oh great, she has one of those fancy cars where you don't even have to turn the key. She also has a fancy touchscreen stuck in her dash.

Rachel opens the sun-roof to let light and air filter through the car. She pops some sunglasses out of a cubby and selects some music.

"You okay with pop, country, and songs from today?" She asks as her phone syncs with the car and some beats start playing. I nod. I'm okay with anything. Corey, Kin, Kon and I have done all the music under the sun anyway, and this song sounds catchy. She opens the title track and I balk at the artist.

"Taylor Swift?" I ask in disgust.

"Yeah." She responds. "State of Grace. I've always been a fan. Want me to change it?"

I shake my head and silence my displeasure. It's her car. Why should she change her own music? And the song is sort of catchy anyway. I can deal with it. Rachel looks at me, then shrugs. She puts the car into drive. The music soars all by itself as we pull out.

She's not a bad driver, and she lets me hit all the buttons I want – seat adjustments, air-conditioning, music. But the way everyone stares at her from their cars makes me want to train my eyes on the dash. Most people never meet my small country's worth of relatives. Now, Rachel is out in the public's eye, and everyone is staring. There's an emotion in their eyes they've never looked at me with. Envy, anger and strong feelings of inferiority spike in my chest. They all know me, I am old news, but Rachel?

The city is like a child at Christmas, surrounded by new toys. And Rachel is the biggest, newest, most fun plaything. Sick.


	2. Lingering Hearts Follow Beautiful Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2, chapter 2, oh what would I do without you?
> 
> I don't own the original work, Grojband. I do own Rachel.
> 
> Glance at the end of the page for added Easter Eggs. My entire life the last nine-ish months has gone into this.
> 
> Huge shout-out to all my beta readers! I'm going to be spotlighting a few of you at the beginning of each chapter. This chapter I decided to say a personal thank-you to Kamjie Celeek and Kid-of-Percabeth.
> 
> Kamjie Celeek – When I decided to move to the beta phase, the first thing I wanted to do was find a person in the fandom who would adore my characters like they were their own. I knew as soon as I read your story with Blaire and Corey and your entire crew that you were the person I was looking for. I was so overjoyed you invested yourself in my story as much as you did. It always brightened my day to open my profile and see you eagerly telling me everything you could about each chapter. Thanks for being one of my many bright lights!
> 
> Kid-of-Percabeth – I was inspired to ask you when I was reading your preferred list. 'Something different/original' you said. I wasn't sure if my story would be a good match for you, but that was why I was so overjoyed when you agreed to beta for me. I needed your feedback like I need air. If not for you, this story may have blended into the thousands on here. I'm so glad it didn't. You were practical, down to earth, and always willing to knock me off cloud nine when I was being silly. Thanks for being my anchor when I was free-floating.

We spend the entire day around the city. I point out Mom's work, the school, and several hang-out spots the guys and I like. One of our favorites is the cafe on fifth up the street from Mom's work. Rachel's acting like an escaped convict. Wherever I point and whatever I say, she memorizes every landmark and piece of information with an aura of fear. It feels like she's searching for the easiest way out of every tight situation.

Rachel buys lunch at a fast food restaurant I like. I get a salad because next to her figure, the pressure is on to act super in-shape. To my surprise, she gets two burgers and fries. She hands the second burger over with my salad. My face has never turned that shade of red without Corey in proximity. We eat in the parking lot. I prop my feet up on the dash. She laughs. "That's my favorite thing to do in the car, but they tell you not to because the airbags will hurt you if you're in a crash."

She asks me a lot of questions. We talk about the band and about when I get my driver's license. I'm not too concerned about being able to drive myself around because the town is so small and we can always arrange for out-of-city transportation when there's a gig. I ask Rachel how she can afford to travel since I know exactly how much it costs to even get out of the city. She explains that her dad Matthew works as a photographer for the Guardian, a British newspaper. That must be where her love of writing stems from. He took up photography as a hobby living in Guatemala but took it to a professional level when he began traveling. The Guardian, along with a couple of other newspapers, pays him per photo, so it's a good life. Rachel poses for him often, as well as other tourists they find. Because of that, she gets paid a stipend too. She speaks vaguely of writing articles as a side job, but nothing seems solid in her life right now.

We return to the house around nine o'clock, which is my curfew for school days. Another new car sits in the drive, which must belong to a family member. Mom let me pick out my own curfew when she decided I needed my sleep for school. I was practical and chose an hour that worked for both of us. She'd better thank her lucky stars she has such a responsible daughter. I've never missed it either. I tell Rachel this, and she swears that she too will never miss it.

Mom's left the front door unlocked, the porch light on, and two sodas on the counter for when we walk in the door. Rachel's dad is there too. Uncle Matthew. It must be his car out in the drive. He has the same coloring as everyone else in our family, at least. He's short with dark hair and skins that burns. I lucked out on that trait, but I do tan straight to the shade of a latino woman. Rachel must get all her looks from her mom. His face brightens when we walk in.

"There you are!" His voice is deep, even though he's the kind of man who gives you the impression he's going to blow away with a faint breeze.

Rachel hugs her dad while I go and plug my phone in. Dad's not here, but it's possible he and some of his cousins went out for a few drinks. Mom hasn't gone to turn off the porch light, so chances are he's out.

My phone screen lights up with a message from Corey. It's not from the band chat, but from my DM with him instead. It reads: "Goodnight Lanes. Missed you today, see you tomorrow?"

I open my phone and type in: "I missed you too. Idk, we've got a relative who'll stay with us for a while. Mom may want me to help her get settled in and registered for school." Rachel revealed that she will attend school with me. I imagine her surrounded by hordes of boys and homosexual girls who all vie for her attention. A thought bubble appears by Corey's icon and then the message appears. "A relative? You should haul them over tomorrow. Show off the band."

I bite my lip as I turn the thought over in my head. "I dunno Core. She's not the Grojband type of girl, y'know?"

"Oh! So she's kinda like a Trina type of girl?"

"No. She dresses like a Trina type of girl, but she's way nice."

"Okay, cool. She ain't gonna be like you though, man." I beam a little at the compliment. The thought bubble hovers over Corey's icon. Then: "Well, if you ain't over by lunch we'll come over and see you."

I smile. "M'kay. See you boys t'morrow." He sends a thumbs-up, and a row of "zzz's"

"Mom," I mumble. "Core has a plan to haul the guys over for a bit tomorrow."

She nods. "Alright. Could you please help Rachel settle in?" Mom gestures over to a small collection of suitcases. Rachel's dad must have brought them in his car. I nod and pick up two. Rachel grabs a few, and her dad picks up the rest. They're heavy, I notice. I lead the way up to the guest room as I huff and puff. I point out the squeaky stair, but both of them step on it anyway. I wince at the repeated squeaks. When I get upstairs, I unlatch the door to the spare bedroom with my hip and put the suitcases I have on the bed. Rachel and her dad throw theirs onto the bed like they're filled with feathers.

"What do you have in these?" I gasp. She shrugs. I glance around the room before she answers. I'm not in here a lot. It's pretty simple. Full-size bed, a small dresser, and closet. A stained nightstand, and a rocking chair from my childhood years.

"Clothes, books in one. Also, travel souvenirs and a small photo album." She talks over her shoulder as she unzips one of the suitcases. The first thing I see inside is newspapers. Lots and lots of newspapers. I crane my neck to look at the headlines, but they are unintelligible.

"That's in German," Rachel informs me as she picks it up. "It" is a parcel wrapped in newspaper. She unrolls it, and I see the words "Die Berliner Zeitung" across the top. Inside is a decorative little windmill, with blades that move. She picks it up, and a little bell-like chime sounds. She places it in my hand, and I hold it by the top and move it. The chime sounds again. It's a little bell. A windmill-bell. I smile. What a beautiful little trinket.

Rachel fluffs out the newspaper and reads a few lines aloud in German. Then she smiles over at me. She doesn't bother to translate it.

We unwrap other things besides the windmill. A music box from Switzerland, a model of a Viennese church, and a few other delicate or special things. She places each on the bed and lets me admire them. The music box plays Edelweiss from the Sound of Music and features a girl on a swing when you open the top of the oval box. At one point she pulls out a mug with the words "I love Berlin" on it and beams at it for several seconds.

As soon as she finishes one, she starts on another. I lean over the bed and continue to admire her trinkets. While she hangs up clothes I finger the intricate details of her model cathedral. She snaps me out of my daze when she takes a beret and puts it on my head at a lopsided angle. She laughs when I look up at her as my red hair covers my face.

She's like an older sister. An older sister who is way prettier, and who I never knew existed until today. I take her beret off and put it back on the bed. I'm still not sure what to feel about Rachel.

Rachel sure has a lot of clothes. She's a packing genius too. She must have fit a hundred outfits into her compact little carry-on. No wonder they were so heavy. They're filled with tons of cute clothes. She's got a few travel shirts that are in fun, bright colors. Then a lot of department store clothes that look free and comfy. Does she ever get discounts when she goes places because of her looks?

In most of the bags, there are clothes and such. In a few, she has more small knickknacks. Like these rectangular blocks with ribbons on them that fall from side to side when you flip the top block. In another is a gigantic floppy hat with a blue ribbon tied on it. A few more things join the other breakable things on her bed, and the last, smallest suitcase is full of treats. Swiss Chocolate, smoked sausages in separate wrappings from Germany, and Greek Pine Nuts. She lets me try a little of everything and then hands me an extra chocolate bar before she puts all her snacks away.

Downstairs, Rachel's dad talks with my mom. I never noticed him leave the room upstairs, but here he is. Our sodas still sit on the counter. I grab mine and head back over to my phone. No new messages and Corey's icon says he hasn't been active in the last 20 minutes. Mom smiles at us.

"Did you get all settled in?" She asks.

"Yeah, Mom," I say as I give her a one-armed hug and walk over to sit at the counter. Rachel happens to be right beside me, she gives mom a smile as she cracks her soda open. She takes a sip and makes a surprised face. "This is sugar sweet!" She says. Mom nods with a smile.

"I'd forgotten." She says: "It takes a while to get used to them, but you will." I take a discreet sip. It tastes like a normal soda to me. I unlock my phone and open my almanac app. It's where the band collaborates on all our events from practice to gigs to dates we won't be available. I notice at the top of the page it says: "Laney out 4 2day." I swipe left to reveal the panel that shows all the guys' latest changes. Corey's added several new dates for the next few weeks. Most bear the name "Gig" and a small list of songs we could play. It's my job to add in the places and times so we can be more organized. One's labeled "BIG GIG" halfway down the list of new events. Unlike most, it has an address; out of town, in the nearby city of Alms.

"Mum." I murmur, then wait until I know I have her attention. "Corey's got this new gig on the docket and it's in Alms." Rachel's dad smiles and folds his hands under his chin.

"Oh, who's Corey?" He teases. Rachel glares and gives him the most vicious face I've seen anyone ever make. "Dad." She reprimands him in a sharp tone. He holds his hands up in mock surrender.

"No one," I answer, though I now have a sudden instinct to cover my face with my hands. "One of my friends."

"They've been friends about all their lives," Mom says. "Neighbor boy. Nice kid, but his sister needs some serious help." She shudders, and I chuckle.

"Yeah, Trina's an absolute doll."

"Oh, so when's he taking you out?" Rachel's dad askes. Rachel fixes him with another glare and crosses her arms.

"No, it's not like that," I respond, eyes wide. Which is true, it's not. "We- we're in a band together with our friends Kin and Kon. He's got this Gig scheduled in another town on the…" I glance down at my phone screen, then balk. "… 5th of March?"

"Oh, how cool," Rachel says. She takes another sip of her soda. A small one. "My birthday is on the Tenth of that month."

"Well, what luck!" Mom says. "Will you still be here with us then?"

Rachel shrugs. "I dunno. Depends on the folks around here."

Mom nods like she understands, which she does even if she doesn't understand. There's no way to know her true thoughts on the matter.

Mom, Rachel, and Rachel's dad start to discuss Rachel's arrangements here. I hear Rachel's Dad voice plans to go to New York City and hang around for a bit. Mom gives him the names of a few people she knows. He also mentions a possible safari in Africa. Rachel cuts in with a laugh and says if he's gonna go out to Africa she thinks she'd rather stay here. I chuckle along with Mom and thumb through our app. There are dates to be set and songs to be arranged.

The facts are that if Rachel does stay until the gig in March and right now it's September, that's six months. Six months of everyone in Peaceville taking their own eyefuls of my new and fabulous cousin. Six months of an older-sister-stranger in the house. Six months with a girl who hasn't grown up around here and doesn't know the rules or area. What have my parents signed me up for?

I tell Mom I'm headed to bed when Rachel and her Dad start to talk about Bosnia and Herzegovina. I don't understand the places they reminisce, and I don't want to imagine what my life will be like from now on. Mom tells me to brush my teeth and to sleep well. I do the first, but the second comes harder. In fact, when Dad stumbles in half-past-midnight drunk as daylight, I'm still wide awake.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Mom doesn't wake me up the next morning, so I sleep in until 9 and lay in bed awake until 10. I walk downstairs in my pajamas. Rachel is already downstairs. When I walk past her room she's made her bed and her room is neat and tidy. In my room, sheets are on the floor and my possessions are disheveled.

Mom's made breakfast. Rachel has already cleaned her plate and taken it to the sink. She gives me a bright smile when I walk past.

"Good Morning Laney." She says. "Won't your friends be over soon?"

I glance at the clock. Dang it, she's right. The clock ticks ahead of my schedule. I wish time passed the way I want it to.

Mom left my breakfast on the table. A large pile of laundry sits beside the doorway and hides Mom behind it. Rachel has taken over the dishes for today, I notice. She's busy as she bustles around the kitchen and sets utensils in their place. Like she's lived here her whole life. She's already dressed – a purple jersey from a high school I've never heard of, and white cut off leggings. She has put her hair up in a twisty braid my hair is too thin to do.

I look down at my old pajamas and then climb up onto my chair to avoid the sight.

When I return to my room, I stand in front of the mirror and pull the fabric of my pajamas this way and that. There's no way to make me look like Rachel… not without plastic surgery and a whole lot of supplements and drugs. What would Mom say if I asked her? My mind fills with images of Rachel, who might stand nearby as I ask. I picture her pretty face as it turns red as she laughs at me. Her eyes that'd scorn me as she thought: "Ha! You'll never be as pretty as I am!"

The doorbell chimes. I hear Mom open the door after a few seconds like she always does, and then the sound of Corey talking downstairs. I panic. Within the span of a few seconds, I've grabbed a shirt and a clean and black article from my dresser. I yank both articles on, run eyeliner over my eyes and a brush through my hair. Then I rush downstairs.

The stair squeaks as I put my weight on it.

"Stair Laney!" Mom calls.

"Sorry, Mom!"

I rush into the family room. Kin and Kon have made themselves at home. The sofa sags under Kon's weight. Over the summer he got taller but still falls inches short of Corey. His childhood fat has weaned and left roo for lots of natural muscle to take place. His hair's grown long. It dangles around his neck and shoulders in curls. He looks older. He still acts like a kid though. I watch him suck on a juice box as he leans around Corey to wave at me. I smile. Kin's grown vertical too, but he's the shortest of the lot. Almost on par with me. He's got lots of pimple issues, most of them around his brow line. Most of the worst is covered by his hair though. He's grown it long, shaved one side, and combed the rest off to the unshaved side. Over the summer he dyed part of it green, but the color has grown out and his mother has chopped it off. They've both got a box of fruit juice and a handful of cookies, courtesy of Mom.

Corey stands next to the sofa where he leans like Nik Mallory does, without anything to lean on. When I appear out of breath and frazzled from my panic, he laughs and focuses his attention on me.

"Sleep in late Laney?" He chuckles. The sound is deep in his throat. My heart does a little somersault, and I laugh along with him. Corey has broad shoulders now, and a long neck and torso. He'll never be a runner. His long blue hair remains tucked under his childhood beanie. It's a little battered, but it's a miracle it survived middle school, let alone our freshman year. He has started to wear blue eyeliner, which looked weird when he didn't know how to apply it but looks almost natural with him now.

"Yeah, a little." I look down to make sure my outfit isn't too embarrassing. It's not, but I'm still no Rachel.

"So," Kin says. "Where we should we hang today?"

Corey shrugs. "Dunno, don't care." He pops a cookie into his mouth. Mom holds out some treats for me, and as I reach over for some fruit snacks the door opens. It's Rachel, who opens the door with her hip. She swings into view and smiles at the boys in the room.

Corey's mouth opens, a little.

"Hey, guys!" Rachel greets as she walks over. She leans her body-from-Broadway over the couch. All the boys watch her. There's friendliness and studying and awe. Kin and Kon exchange a quick glance and Kin's cheeks take on a red tone.

Kon smiles a little too wide. "Hello!" He calls. His voice chooses that moment to crack, and he has to avert his eyes as he holds his throat. Kin sounds like he's choking for a second and doesn't dare greet her.

Corey… Corey's quiet. My chest clenches with an emotion like dread.

"Umm…" I say as I try to fight the fear and use my head at the same time. "This is my cousin Rachel. She's staying with our family for a few months."

"Cool," Kin says. He holds out his shaky hand. "I'm Kin," He raises his eyebrows at her. There's a second interpretation there. Rachel raises an eyebrow of her own and takes his hand for a quick second of a shake.

"Rachel." She has to lean down a little because Kin is short compared to her. I really am the shortest out of this bunch. Kon still hits her neck. She towers over everyone except… Corey. Corey's got two inches on her. Rachel shakes Kon's hand too and then turns to Corey.

Corey holds out his hand, and she places hers in his. "I'm Corey." He introduces himself. Then he jerks his head towards me a little bit. "Laney's best friend." The weight of the friend zone falls on me yet again. Rachel's eyes flit toward me, and I force myself to look down at my shoes.

"Nice to meet you, Corey." She sounds like she's either talking to attract or forcing the words. I bite my tongue. Is he attracted to her? Is she attracted to him? She told Aunt Bess that she wasn't interested in marriage, but what if Corey changes that? What if they start to date and get married and-

"Laney?" Rachel's voice breaks through my thoughts. I snap my head back up. Corey and Rachel both look at me with their hands still connected. Their hand-grip has changed though. Instead of a handshake, Corey looks like he's about to pull her hand to his lips. Rachel catches my gaze and yanks her hand from his grasp. Corey snaps his head back up at her. He doesn't look offended, but Rachel looks uncomfortable. She must have realized that I like Corey, and she's crossed the line in flirting with him.

"Well, " Rachel shifts her weight back and forth, a movement that all three boys follow. "I'm headed upstairs to work on my novel. Talk to you guys later." She turns and starts to walk towards the stairs. Kin, Kon, and Corey stare after her.

"So, what do you guys want to do?" I ask. No one answers, no one even acknowledges that I've spoken. They're all busy as they watch the door where my beautiful, glamorous cousin disappeared.

"Weren't we gonna go have band practice?" Twinges of desperation edge my voice. Corey shrugs.

"I dunno, it wouldn't hurt if we hung around here…" My stomach drops, and I bite my cheek.

"Yeah, it wouldn't hurt…" I mumble as I lead the boys into the kitchen. For the next miserable hour, we sit at the dining room table and play board games as we pass lousy lyrics back and forth. Every time mom walks into the room, the boys glance up. Rachel doesn't make an appearance. She stays upstairs and works on her novel like she said.

Half past noon Kon asks over lunch: "Will she come down?"

I shrug. "I dunno." I tell him. I hope not. Lucky for me, she doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Die Berliner Zeitung is an actual newspaper. English translation is The Berlin Newspaper. I like to read it in my spare time. Es ist Super!
> 
> All of Rachel's little trinkets are based off of knickknacks my parents got on their LDS Missions. I did, of course, alter them to come from different places, but my parents originally went to Nicaragua and Russia, separately. If you follow church news, you'll know that they announced temples in both of these locations over the April 2018 conference! We're so excited!
> 
> I don't live in Canada, sorry, so a lot of the Canadian references I use are from my ninth-grade geography class where we went over cultures from around the world, and Tumblr. Fun Fact, in some parts of Canada you can pay to have a real human toe put in your drink. It's called a sourtoe cocktail. Anyway, this is where I get things like how pops are sugar-sweet in Canada and Mexico.
> 
> Purple and white – Rachel's outfit – were the high school colors for my high school.


	3. Poppies in a Tray; A portrait of the Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three, chapter three. Where would I be?
> 
> I don't own Grojband at all. Rachel, however, is my OC.
> 
> Today I'd like to make a shout-out towards Project-story-board and ZilverHope.
> 
> Project-story-board – You were by far the fastest beta-reader I had. It seemed I'd scarcely sent one chapter that you needed the next one. You were constantly positive and encouraging! Your flair for style cheered me up when I stressed over this story. If I had to relate you to a fictional character, I'd relate you to Margo Roth Spigelman. Free, funky, and fresh. Also, random capitalization to boot, XD. I know I've said it before, but thanks, my friend.
> 
> ZilverHope – I have so many words for you I don't know where to start! You were thorough, detailed, and fast! I've never had a beta reader like you before! Not only did you pick out advice unique from everyone else's, you were willing to explain the theory behind each principle. I hope you enjoyed beta reading for me as much as I enjoyed being able to learn from you. Thank you so much!

The drive to school on Monday morning is one of the most unique ordeals I'll ever go through. Rachel wakes up the entire town as we go. People turn to stare as they catch sight of her, and a few even snap pictures. I curl forward into my seat. I've been onstage and loved it but silent eyes are much different than the cheers of the crowds. I bow my head and imagine iron weights that pull my shoulders forward. In the eyes of the community, I feel invaded. We pull into an empty car lot near the front of the school. A bunch of half-asleep freshmen snaps their heads up as Rachel opens her car door. She looks like she's meant to step off of a private jet and into a stream of reporters and photographers.

White faux leather jacket and a fall-colored scarf offset her pale skin. She wears next-to-no makeup and sunglasses. I wear blue jeans, a rock shirt, and a black hoodie. I feel like garbage set next to diamonds.

A small crowd begins to gather inside the school as we step in. The buses start to pull in behind the school. Thousands of frosted hands clutch lukewarm cups of coffee as students start to trek into Monday. Their outlook of the day gets turned around upon a glimpse of Rachel.

She lights up the world somehow, I can't figure it out. She's ditsy and confused and aloof to the stares. But she still manages to act like she knows exactly what she needs to do. You get the vibe that she could rule the world with one hand behind her back.

"Laney." She whispers out of the corner of her mouth. "Where do I get a locker?"

A locker?

Why? Doesn't she have a car? She wants it so that she could lean against it and let the boys ogle her. I direct her nonetheless. I point out the office, and the copy center, and tell her a few tricks. Like how the librarian will let you run off copies of assignments or essays in the Library Computer Lab. Also, the Coca-Cola machine wouldn't refund change, but the Pepsi machine would. She takes it all in with a nod and an aura of 'I've got this'. There's that look in her eye again though like she's still caught up in her search for an escape route.

Our tour continues. As we pass by the copy center I'm shocked when a tall Junior rams into me on accident. I trip and slam my shoulder into a teal locker.

"Oh my gosh!" He yelps, and rushes to help me up. "I am so sorry." He glares over his shoulder at his friends. Rachel takes my shoulder before he can and helps me up. She must know it isn't his fault, but she still fixes him with a stone-cold expression. She examines him as she flips her sunglasses up into her blonde curls.

"Are you alright Laney?" She questions me. I nod. The junior kid babbles on.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry! I didn't mean to ram into you!"

"Hey," Rachel states. "Hey, hey kid. It's chill. She isn't hurt." My shoulder hums a little in protest, but I keep my mouth shut. The kid takes a deep breath.

"Right, um, right. Yeah, sorry. I, um, I wanted to, uh, come over and introduce myself." Of course, he did. He sticks out his hand. He looks like a farm kid. And the tip of his pinkie finger is gone. Rachel shook his hand.

"I'm Aaron," He smiles and looks like he's struck gold as he shakes Rachel's hand. His teeth look like he's bleached them several times. "I'm a junior, what about you?"

"Rachel. I'm a senior."

"Coolio. Are you new?"

"Yeah. My cousin Laney's been helping me around." Rachel explains before her eyes dart toward me. Aaron is quick to tear his eyes away and look over too.

"Oh, that's cool. Do you have your schedule yet?" Aaron shifts his weight back and forth and shoves his sweaty palms into his pockets.

Rachel shakes her head and I withhold a sigh. Aaron points toward the office. I let out that sigh. "You can get one over there. I'd be happy to walk with you. Then we could compare schedules?"

Rachel smiled. "Thanks, but I'll be fine."

"No biggie. I'll walk with you anyway." I roll my eyes. Aaron turns to me. "Laney, right? Laney Penn?" I nod.

"Aren't you a part of Grojband?" I nod again. I bet my neck is gonna get a major workout today.

"What's Grojband?" Rachel asks in curiosity.

Aaron turns back towards her. "Only your cousin's sick band. They play all the time, and know how to lay down some beats."

Rachel nods. "Cool." She turns toward me. "Is that you, Corey, Kin, and Kon then?"

"Yeah. That's us." I say.

Aaron opens the door for us and stands off to the side. Rachel turns around to him with the graces of annoyance. "Thanks for your help Aaron; I wouldn't want to hold you up for your next class, and I don't know how long this will take, so why don't you head out?" She smiles at him, and he holds up his hands.

"Okay, I gotcha. I'll head out then, and you can come and find me when you get your schedule." Rachel smiles and nods as Aaron heads out of the office. Outside, through the glass window, the friends who shoved him into me start to clap him on the back. Rachel sighs a little.

"Laney, why don't you head out too? You don't need to sit around and wait for me. Go see if you can find your friends." She gives me an encouraging sort of smile. I shrug.

"See you around. Call me if you need any help." We'd exchanged numbers in the car. She nods and does a little famous-person finger wave before I walk out.

I open up the band's group chat on my phone and text a quick "Where u guys b ?" Kin, not Corey, is the first person to read and respond. "Corey's bus broke down. His sister's headed to get him. We're in the library." I tuck my phone into my pocket and join the flow of students who walk aimlessly around the school. There's a lull in the crowd today; people slow down around the office. I avert my eyes. Trina's in the crowd with Mina and a group of girls who all follow Nik Mallory. The fact her stranded brother awaits her doesn't seem to faze her. I sigh.

"Bad news guys." I start my second text. "I saw Trina, she's following HNM around. Corey's stuck."

Kin drops me a face-palm sticker.

I cross the hall to the library still on my phone, and someone grabs my arm.

"Hey, didn't you walk in with that new girl? With the white jacket?" A Mr. Macho senior kid asks. I shrug.

"My cousin. Why?"

Instead of an answer, his eyes drop to my chest. "Your cousin?" He asks in surprise. I push his hand off my arm. "Yeah, problem?" I ask.

He backs off. "No, no, sorry 'bout that." I snort and push past him into the library. Kin and Kon have plopped themselves down into a set of beanbags in the corner of the room. Kon has his feet propped up on a spare one, so when I get over there I push his legs off and steal it. He scowls a little and then realizes it's me.

"Oh, hey Laney."

"Hey, guys. Any news on Core?"

Kin lets out a long sigh. "Nope, he's still freezing his butt off three miles from here. And I'll bet Trina's not even a little bit concerned."

I shake my head. My phone buzzes and I look down. A number not in my contact list has sent me a photo. Rachel. I open up the message, label her contact and look at the photo. It's her schedule. She's got a lot of English and Art classes. IB Biology, Math, and English, Ballroom, Advanced Creative Writing, English 12, and German. My eyes continue to drift down the list. We share one lunch period every two days, a study hall period, and intro to psychology.

"Whatcha looking at Laney?" Kon asks as he leans over my shoulder.

"M' texting Rachel. She got her schedule."

"She goes here?" Kin asks. He looks surprised, not starstruck.

"Yeah." I shrug as I try to appear nonchalant. "Senior. Looks like she's got tons of advanced classes. I toss him my phone. He catches it with one hand. His quick eyes scan the photo.

"Huh, nice. She sounds like a smart girl. We have IB Math together."

"IB Math?" Kon groans. "Why would anyone want to waste their time in an IB class?"

"So we can get ahead in college." Kin answers.

"Why would anyone want to go to college?!"

"To get a good job and – oh, here Laney, she sent you a text." Kin tosses the phone back, and I avoid letting it clatter to the ground. He and Kon go straight back to bickering about college.

My phone reads: "Hey Laney, is it okay if I come hang with you?"

I want to say no. I want to tell her to go and get out of my life. She's fine at home but here, with my friends whose eyes gravitate toward her like she's a magnet, I don't want her around.

Here's what I actually say: "Sure! We're in the library, need help finding the place?"

She never texts back. She walks through the doors to the library minutes later. The atmosphere drops immediately. Everyone watches her. I sink a little deeper into my chair. The only people who don't seem to notice are Kin and Kon, who are still engrossed in their debate. Rachel spots us and weaves her way through tables and chairs to reach us.

"Hey, Kin and Kon." She says.

Both boys glance up, and Kin waves a little. "Hey, Rachel." He says in an offhand tone. He and Kon pick their debate up again. I blink.

Yesterday they watched her like she was some sort of snack, and now she's old news? It's like she's been here their entire lives. My heart picks up a little. That means the school will get used to her allure! That means Corey won't watch her either! He'll get used to her and they'll be good friends and he won't fall in love with her! They won't start to date and won't get married and I- I'll still have a chance with him.

Kin picks up his phone mid-debate with Kon. He sighs. "Corey texted Trina, and she refuses to pick him up. He's started to walk."

Kon rolls his eyes. "Trina can be such a –" Kin slaps a hand over his twin's mouth.

"Shh! We don't know if Rachel is okay with swear words yet!" Kon bites down on Kin's hand.

"Yee-OUCH!" Kin yelps as he rips his hand away. "Du-UDE!"

"Corey needs a ride?" Rachel asks. She leans forward in that way she does, that makes her look like a runway queen.

Kin nods with a mournful expression then jump out of his seat. "Do you have a car? Can you drive? Can you go and pick him up?!" In response, Rachel pulls out her keys and twirls them around her finger. Kon fist pumps. "Yes!"

As an afterthought, he adds: "Do you mind?"

"Sure," Rachel smiles in reply. "Let's hurry though, and then none of us will be late." Kin and Kon jump out of their seats and start to prance towards the door. Rachel waits for me to stand up, and then walks alongside me as we follow them out.

Before we leave the library, something weird happens. I see movement out of the corner of my eye, and then Rachel spins on her heel. She's adorned with cherry-red wedges too, so that's a feat. A boy sits backward in his chair and smiles up at her in a way that doesn't sit right with a person. Rachel stares at him in a dangerous way. I wait, and then she turns without warning and starts to walk away. I hurry to catch up. Before I pass her, I notice her holding a hand over her butt, almost as if someone had pinched or poked her.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Kin and Kon halt outside the school doors.

"Oh wait," Kin says. "We don't know which car is yours." Rachel chuckles and hits a button on her keys. Her car beeps, and Kin and Kon's head snap in that direction.

"Ooh! Snazy ride!" Kon exclaims. He bounds toward the car, opens the door to the back seat, and closes it before Kin can jump in. Rachel opens the door for Kin to climb in. She opens my door for me too as she stands there like she did on Saturday. This time though, I don't need to adjust the seat. It's already set to my height. My seat.

Rachel climbs in, tosses her keys into the console, and hits start. Her phone syncs, and when she pushes the button, the heaters startup. "Oooh!" Kin and Kon stare at the touchscreen in the center dash. Rachel pulls her phone out of her pocket and hands it to me.

"See if you can pull up some of your band's songs. I want to hear a few."

"Oh! Hey! You should do… Cherry-Cherry!" Kon exclaims.

"No, do-"

"I like Cherry-Cherry." I interrupt. "It's got a sick beginning. Kon rocked those counts."

Kin shrugs in defeat and Rachel looks into her rear-view mirror at them. "Buckle up." She tells them. They reach over their shoulders and yank the straps down. I try and be more discreet about the fact I too forgot to buckle up.

Rachel pulls out of the parking lot without a single flaw. The same isn't true for a student who pulls into school at the same time, who catches sight of her and turns the wheel too sharp. He goes up on the curb and scares a group of freshmen out of their wits.

Rachel seems to like a few of our songs, but others she glances sideways at us as we rock out. Kin and Kon both mime the motions as they pretend to play their keyboard and drums. They, like me, know all their notes by heart. Rachel laughs along with us when Kon smacks Kin atop the head by accident as he goes into a complicated rhythm.

We follow the route Corey's bus takes and find him as he walks along a sidewalk-less street. When we pull up, he casts the car weird looks, but then Kin rolls down the window and calls out "Corey!"

"What? Yo guys!" Corey yells. His face lights up with that childish look he's always had, and he swaggers over to the car. "Where did you guys come from? Who's driving?"

Rachel rolls down my window for me and waves at Corey. "We came to pick you up, and I'm driving." Corey's mouth drops a little, and he stares at Rachel. Her sunglasses are still tucked into her golden locks, and small puffs of breath waft around her lips. Corey… is still hypnotized.

My heart sinks into the pit of my chest. I lean back into the chair, shocked. Corey rips his eyes off of my beautiful cousin long enough to smile a hello at me, and I smile back. He climbs in behind my seat, and Rachel pulls out.

The music soars, Kin and Kon goof off, but I can't concentrate on our awesome beats right now. I can't concentrate as Rachel applies pink lipstick before she puts the car into gear. I can't concentrate as Corey cranes his neck a little to watch her as she drives. I can't concentrate as the universe taunts my every move and laughs at my efforts.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Corey and I drop into Musical Theory as Kin and Kon trail along behind us. As we walk towards our seats, I nudge Corey with my hip.

"Hey, I say. He snaps his head back to see me. "You seem kinda quiet. Is everything okay?"

Finally- FINALLY, he smiles at me. A real, big, Corey smile. "I'm great Lanes!" He exclaims. "I'm thinking about Rachel."

My heart skips a beat. "What about her?" I ask. But before he can answer, Kin leans up between the two of us.

"Ooh! Corey's got a crush!"

Corey nudges him. "So do you, man. You said last night, she's pretty."

My mind jumps into action. Last night? What did I miss? My fingers itch toward my phone so I can look through the group chat.

Kin shakes his head. "Naw man, I agreed she was pretty, but she's not girlfriend material. She's like, a year older! She can drive and she's too tall for me!" I snort.

Kon knocks all three of us a foot to the right as he barges into our conversation. "Yeah, Corey. Sure she's pretty, but you're the only one head-over-heels for her."

"Well, at least the only one of us. We died on the way out of the school 'cause some idiot was too busy trying to get a good look at her."

I let out a long and dramatic sigh. "Oh my gosh, it's like the entire town has fallen in love with her. She stepped in and everyone-" I clutch my heart and let out a swoon as I channel my inner hate of Trina. Corey stares at me.

"Well, she is pretty nice… and cute – beautiful actually." Corey starts to stare into space. Is he thinking about kissing her? Is that what boys do when they like girls? I bite my lip and furrow my brow. It's not like I can ask him about it.

Does Corey like Rachel, or is this a phase for him? Kin and Kon seemed to get over it. I guess all I can do is hope Corey moves on quickly too.

We all plop down in our respective seats and spread our notes out across our joined table. Corey taps my shoulder as the bell rings and the teacher begins class.

"Hey, Laney." He asks. "Do you have Rachel's number? Can I have it?"

I sit there and blink for several seconds. "Um…" I trail off. Corey stares as he waits, and I'm not sure what to do. My soul folds in on itself. Finally, I gain the stomach to shrug.

"Um, why don't you ask her yourself?"

He sucks in a breath. "Well… I don't know her that well, and I thought…"

"You think she's gonna pick you up before school, blast our band's songs and not be chill with you talking to her?" I say. There's a twinge of something like boredom in my voice. He sways his head back and forth in thought. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Thanks, Lanes!"

Lanes. Ugh, his nickname for me. I try to clear my throat so it doesn't sound like I'm about to cry. "Yeah… no problem Core."  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I meet up with Rachel in our Study Hall class for our last class. I've already designated the back of the room as my area, so she leaves the front of the class to come and sit with me. Tons of books weigh down her arms. The two largest are for IB English and IB Math. She plops her pile down and flashes me a million-dollar smile.

"Hey Laney," she smiles. "How's your day been going?" I shrug.

"Fine. You look like you're happy."

She nods. "I'm happy with the classes I picked out. I'm a little ahead in my two English classes, and I'll be able to turn in my essays from when I went to school online. I'm lucky all my credits transferred over."

I nod, a little taken aback by her enthusiasm. "That's great. Do you have a favorite class yet?" She shakes her head. "I've still got six to check out. She pauses. "Six, that's correct, right?" I nod.

"Yup. Ten in all, five every day. Unless you're a freshman. Then you take math every day."

"I see." She says. She tucks all her books on her desk and starts to look through her disclosures. She grins up at me.

"I can sign my own disclosures, right? Given that my dad is out of the country? Would I have to have your mom sign them?"

I hold up my hands. "I've always signed my own." She shrugs and then scribbles her signature on each one.

I turn on my phone and start to scroll through our Almanac. Corey's added more things: weekend gigs, parties, the normal. He's also updated the Big Gig – it's now got a sub-label that reads: Nation-wide Broadcast/Battle of the Bands. My eyes widen. That… is a huge gig.

Rachel taps on the corner of my table twice. "Do you know the bell schedule?" I gesture to the wall where large-print posters of the school schedules hang. "Thanks, Laney." She says. "What are you up to?"

"Um… Corey's got this big event on the calendar, the one I mentioned last night? It's a national event."

"Oh wow," says Rachel. "Sounds fun."

A weight falls into the seat next to me. Some kid's backpack. The kid himself sits next to Rachel. He's one of those large, buff kids who everyone stereotypes to be a football player. He might do football, but right now he has on a shirt with our school's logo and the words 'swim team'.

"Heyyy." He drawls out and focuses on a point below Rachel's collarbone. She shrugs her scarf around to draw his attention away and backs away a few inches. He looks up and tries to meet her eyes. "Are you the new girl everyone's talking about?"

Rachel gives him this plaited sort of smile and says, "Well, I am new."

New Kid jumps onto the end of her sentence. "And you are beautiful." He grabs her hand and tries to kiss it, but she snaps her wrist away from him and pulls out her Biology textbook.

"Playing hard-to-get? I see how it is." The boy smirks in what he must think is an attractive way, and pulls out a thin Driver's Education Manual. I look away as he starts to inch over to her.

I open the group chat and start to scroll through the messages the band has sent back and forth. Kin and Kon are active now but engaged in a war of emojis, so I ignore them and scroll straight to the top. I stop when I see the last message I sent on the day of the photo-shoot reunion.

"My dad has 52 cousins!" I read. This would be a message I sent even before I knew Rachel was going to reorganize my life. The next message that contains words is from Corey, at the top of the list.

"OHMYGOSH Rachel is wayyyy hotttt!"

"Yeah, I know bro! Laney's super awesome to have such a sweet cus!" Kon chimed in. The message next to Kin's icon reads: "Yeah dudes, she's definitely a looker!"

Then Corey's message reads: "R U guys interested in her?" I close my eyes a little and look away from my phone. Big mistake. I look back at my phone. The new kid at our table has figured out that Rachel has one of the same subjects as him. He's trying to pester her into 'helping' him. She is 'helping' him remember where his seat is, as he's half on hers now.

The next few messages read: "Eh, idk man. She's hot, but I don't know her well enough to LIKE her." "Yeah, she's def got the looks, but she's way tall. That's kinda a turn-off for me." "Oh yeah, she's way tall." Corey chimes back in: "But guys! She's super nice, and she's a writer, so that means she's smart. Also, again, REALLY PRETTY" "She's not that tall…"

I scroll faster and skim all the messages. Kin says no, Kon says no, and at the bottom is Corey. "I'm gonna try and ask her out guys."

A thumbs up emoji and a "Good luck!" are the last two comments Kin and Kon make on the situation. I turn my phone off and tuck it into my bag. My eyes are wet. Rachel is half battling the boy off of her, and half watching me in concern. I raise my hand. "Can I go to the bathroom miss?" I ask. She nods, and I don't linger long enough to see Rachel begging without words for me to stay.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________

There's a knock on my door after school.

"Laney?" Rachel calls from the hallway. "Are you in there?" I untangle myself from my mess of blankets and drag myself to the door.

"Yes?" I ask after I open the door and shut it behind me.

She holds up a plastic turquoise bag. "Do you want to paint nails with me?" I shrug.

"I'm… not very good at painting things." I try and meet her eyes. She shrugs. "That's cool. I can do yours if you like, or if not I'll leave you alone. Like, do you want to hang out?"

"Sure?" Why not?

She leads me into her room, where there's a plastic mat and a bunch of fancy objects laid on the floor around her bed. "What do you want?" She asks as she sits down. I feel overwhelmed, so I shrug. She eyes me, then smiles and unzips her turquoise bag. "Pick a color?"

I pick black since that's a standard go-around shade. She takes one of my hands and starts to work on it. "How was school for you?" She asks.

"Um, it was pretty okay. What about you?"

"Well, the people seem nice enough. Kinda nosey, but what can you do?" She files my nails into even edges. I've been chewing on them lately. "I already like Biology and German."

"That's great."

"Yeah. So, I wanted to ask you, would it be cool if I came out and saw your band's shows? They seem pretty chill from what I've heard."

"Yeah, we'd love to have you there!" The fact she wants to come and see my shows cheers me up a little. Even if she's much, much prettier than I am, she's still super nice. She's like an awesome older sister. She paints my nails, supports my interests, drives me and my friends to school….

My mind drifts back to Corey.

"You're… super popular at school." I comment to start up a conversation. Rachel sighs.

"Ugh. I hope it wears off soon. Then I can focus on my school work without people trying to get my attention." She looks up from where she's painting. "Do they do that to you at all?" I laugh. I actually laugh.

"No! Of course not!" She frowns.

"Why not?"

"Eh, I'm not that pretty." I shrug, uncomfortable. She rolls her eyes.

"You're beautiful."

"Thanks." An air of awkwardness settles around us. She blows on one of my hands. "Um, did you see any cute guys you liked? Or girls, y'know, if you swing that way." I ask.

"Oh, no. I don't see cute people. It'd be better if they treated me like I was human."

"What d'ya mean?" She drops one of my hands and picks up the other.

"Well, if they treated me like I was a person, I'd care more. I'm not an object they're entitled to. Did you see that one guy in Study Hall? Ugh, I wish I'd have slapped him."

"He looked like he was about to drool down your shirt." I laugh a little, despite myself.

"Right!" Rachel exclaims in irritation. She rolls her shoulders back and continues to work on my nails. "Do you want a design?" She gestures to the items around her.

"Um, what do you have?"

"Lots of floral patterns, but I can do doodles by hand if you like."

"Sure, that sounds great."

She picks up a few bottles of nail polish and starts work on the first hand again. "Have you talked to your band yet?"

"Not since school ended. We usually leave off Monday and Tuesday for homework catch-up unless we've got a gig scheduled to come up." That way we can have the build-up to the weekend to rehearse for any events we have Friday night to Sunday.

She's silent as she works on a design on my fourth finger. I watch, half entranced. She knows what she's doing. If I tried that, it'd come out smudged and gross. She finishes one nail and places it aside after she blows on it. Six wavy lines, and music notes placed on and in-between each.

They're placed askew but as my eyes scan the design, I hear the notes play in my head. "Oh hey!" I say. "That's cool!"

She glances up through her bangs. "Thanks!" She says. I blush. I didn't mean her artwork, though it is awesome, intricate and neat as it is. I meant the arrangement, the composition of notes. These notes could be killer riffs for a song for the band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs
> 
> The High School layout is based off of my own. All outfits were things I saw on high schoolers in my area. The little 'school hacks' were things I figured out I could do in my sophomore year of high school. Rachel's classes were some of my favorite classes, however, mine were AP. For those of you who don't know, in America and some other countries, we have AP classes, which are like college courses in high school. The Canadian equivalent of AP is IB. Rachel uses both terms because she has been to several places and knows about them both.
> 
> Rachel can do nails because my aunt can and I wanted Rachel to have a piece of my aunt.
> 
> I want to make a note that I love my dad, but I kind of called him out on how he treated me describing myself as a feminist. I often heard him cracking jokes with his brothers and sometimes it stung because that was how I was choosing to represent myself.


	4. The Words; AKA Lyrics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Chapter Four.
> 
> Today I'd like to make a shout-out to Clairvoyant Teen17 and TheGirlyDJ.
> 
> Clairvoyant Teen17 = I picked you up in my second round of finding Betas and I'd like to thank you so much for your services! You were by far one of the fastest betas I had and I'm so grateful for you. Thank you for thanking the time out of your schedule to read my story.
> 
> TheGirlyDJ = Even though you had to prematurely stop beta reading for me, I wanted to give you a shout-out and thank you for your services. Thanks for being patient with me going forward and backward with my messaging. I always got the impression you were stylish and confident when I was talking to you. Thanks for reviewing and editing for me!

We've arranged, rearranged, and re-rearranged Corey's Garage over and over the past few years. Rachel follows me in and takes in the sight of the place. Her eyes flick over the moldy old blue couch, to Trina's pinktastic parked on the other side.

"Is that Corey's ride?" Rachel murmurs in my ear. I shake my head.

"His demonic sister Trina." I hiss. She nods and draws back to her full height. She's covered in blue today. Blue jean jacket, pretty blue eye shadow, blue high heels. The only non-blue item on her is her cherry-red laptop tucked up under her arm. She looks like Aphrodite, all washed up from the ocean with the prettiest shades of cyan mixed with her skin. Corey's busy tuning up his guitar and is faced away from us.

"Hey, Core!" I call and try to not choke on the syllables. Is it possible he's forgotten about Rachel? Will he look over at me and realize how long I've waited for him to notice me? Maybe he'll look at me beside her and somehow start to think I'm prettier?

He glances over his shoulder at my voice and says "Hey Lanes." His eyes latch onto Rachel, and his mouth opens a little fraction. My heart plummets miles into my chest. He turns his full body around and bows a little bit. At her, not me.

"Why Rachel! Welcome to the Garage!" He welcomes her with a flourish of his hand, gesturing around to the peeling paint, the old square of carpet, and our dozens of posters.

"Ooh! Rachel's here?" Kon's voice comes through from behind the curtain. He pulls the curtain up around his neck to reveal himself. In his hands are a bunch of moldy potato crisps. He shovels a handful into his mouth and waves his salty hands at Rachel. She laughs, at least she thinks he is funny.

"Why're you up there?" I ask as I hoist myself onto the stage.

"Kin blew the speaker system," Kon informs us after he swallows.

"I only tripped the breaker, shut up Kon!" Kin calls from behind the curtain. A horrific sizzle which sounds like a bolt of lightning comes from his direction, followed by an "Ow!" and the hum of the speaker system. Corey picks up a cord and plugs his guitar in as Kin peaks out, his hair frizzy.

"Fixed?" He asks with hope as his puny limbs tremble. Rachel bends down and helps him up. Corey raises his pick and brings it down on the strings. A sonic boom echoes throughout the garage. Corey smirks at Kin.

"Fixed." He triumphs.

The door slams up above in the loft. A pink head leans out and glares down at us. "What do you think you're doing!" Trina howls down at us as Mina cowers behind the fuchsia monster.

Corey looks like he doesn't care about his sister's sudden entrance. He eyes Rachel as she stares up in surprise at Trina. I guess he does live here. He ought to be used to her. "Be nice Trina." He croons up to his sister. "We have guests!"

"Yeah." Kin hauls himself out from under the curtain. "Guests that are prettier than you."

A guest. One. After all, we three band members practically live here! Rachel is the only stranger.

"Oh please." Trina scoffs as she glares down at us. "You and your boy band hardly even merit as pretty or even guests. You're more like scum that stays underfoot and-"

Trina, it seems, has remained unaware of Rachel until now, by some miracle. She gapes open-mouthed for a few seconds, and Kin and Kon exchange triumphant looks.

"Who are you?" Trina spits as she turns her glare on Rachel. Rachel, for all her snobbishness, stands up and glares right back at Trina.

"Someone who's got a lot more manners than you." While Trina's voice never goes quieter than a scream, Rachel never leaves a whisper. I imagine frost that creeps over the garage at her tone.

"I could teach you something about manners!" Trina hollers. She ducks behind the solid railing of the garage balcony and appears again with what appears to be a paper-mache rock. This she hurls down at us. It lands and looks pathetic a few feet to Kon's left. Kin snorts and ducks his head with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes, you could." Rachel agrees with Trina. "You'd be the epitome example of what not to do." She picks up the paper mache rock, which crumbles a little in her hand. "Would you like this back?" Trina stares open-mouthed, then huffs and turns to vanish inside her room. The last sound we hear from her is the slam of the door.

Rachel frowns up at her. "What a rude, impolite young lady." She scowls. Then she does a weird thing. She closes her hand in front of her face and drags it away so her eyes follow it. Then she speaks aloud: " She is a wonderful young lady with lots of good streaks and talents. She is a remarkable person."

Even Corey laughs. "Oh please," He chuckles as he tunes the last string on his guitar. "Trina's off her rocker. Don't look for rainbows in the wrong place."

"I try to see potential where no one else has bothered to look yet." Rachel challenges. Corey smirks at her.

"Whatever you say." He trails off, then looks to Kin, Kon, and I. "What's her nickname?"

"Rach!" Kin calls. "Chall?" Kon looks back and forth for confirmation. "Swiftie," I say as I retrieve my bass and take a pick from Corey's pile.

"Swiftie?' Corey asks as he sizes Rachel up.

"Yeah. She likes Taylor Swift's music." I respond. Kin and Kon both turn and stick a finger in their open mouths to pretend they're barfing. Even Corey looks disgusted.

"I can sing like Taylor Swift." He says. He takes a deep breath and lets out a high pitch squeak before he breaks out in an awful tune. "This guy cheated on me so I'ma rip up his truck and cry so I can get my next boyfriend."

I laugh, despite the fact that Rachel's introduced me to a few Taylor Swift songs that aren't about boys. I myself might catch an addiction. When I see Rachel's crestfallen expression, words slip out of my mouth in defense.

"She's got killer lyrics."

Corey, Kin, and Kon all turn and stare in shock. For a moment, my size tells me to be silent, but then I see Rachel out of the corner of my eye.

"I'm serious." I pull my phone out of my pocket and open up Google. "Here: C'mon Baby with me, we're gonna fly away from here. Out of this curtained room and this hospital grave will just disappear. You were my best four years."

Corey rolls his eyes. "See, it's about another guy who left her. With more time." He, Kin, and Kon laugh together.

"She wrote it about a four-year-old boy whose cancer killed him."

Corey freezes mid eye-roll, and Kon's fingers halt on the way to his mouth.

"These are the hands of fate." I recite. "You're my Achilles Heel." Corey lets his hands rest on the strings of his guitar. I watch him a moment and fall in love again but then return to my phone. "You call me up again just to break me like a promise. So casually cruel in the name of being honest." I scroll up. "There we are again in the middle of the night. We dance around the kitchen in the refrigerator light." Corey shoots me a sideways glance, and I realize I've made my point. I tuck my phone back into my pocket.

"Anyhow, I may not care for her social life, but she's definitely talented in the lyrics department."

He nods. Then his fingers pick out a few notes. "Swiftie."He confirms Rachel's nickname. His fingers play the same notes.

"What are those notes, Corey?" Kin jumps up. Corey starts, then runs the chords off once more. I feel what Kin felt too. A start. As Corey lets the last string continue vibrating, he looks up at me and smiles a little. I smile back, and our little moment extends, but then he looks back over at my cousin.

My heart feels like it's turned black at that moment. Heat builds up behind my lids and I close my eyes. When I open them, Kin has a blank music sheet in front of him. He asks Corey to play the riff over and over while he inscribes all the chords onto the paper. As Kin scribbles down neat little circles onto the lines, I recall something. "Oh! Kin! I need you! Have Corey write." I pull the pencil and paper out of his grasp and shove it toward Corey. As he jumps forward to take it, our hands touch and I can feel the callouses his instrument has formed. My heart thumps against my rib cage. I pull Kin over to his keyboard and turn so he can see my nails, still unchipped from when Rachel did them.

"You brought me over here so you could show me your nails?" Kin asks in confusion. He leans forward to squint while his fingers stay on the keyboard.

"No silly! Look at the notes!" I push my hands closer to his face. He squints, then gasps.

"Oh!" He grabs my left hand and brings it right up to his nose. "Oh, that's brilliant!" He finds his place on the keyboard and traces out the notes on my nails, one by one. It goes fast, and then it goes slow. Near the end, it shoots higher and higher. Kin finishes by dragging his fingers down the keys the way little kids do when they want to hear all the notes at once. There's a pause as he wipes his brow and squints at my hand. But then his fingers add-on Corey's riff and the two pieces… click. It's a beautiful thing when two pieces exist to connect.

Even Rachel, who does not know music, is in awe as she watches Corey's riff combine with the notes she gave me. Another course of inspiration runs through me.

"Rachel." I jump off the stage. "You're so involved in English and the way it works, could you pen some lyrics for this?" She blinks in surprise, and one of her dark blue heels leaves the floor to scratch the back of her leg.

"Yeah." She says. "Sounds great. I can do that." She furrows her lip as she arranges her schedule; pushing schoolwork and writing time to find a space to make a song. She smiles in triumph when a place finally makes itself known to her. "Yes." She repeats and slides the laptop out from under her arm. Corey's eyes follow the movement, and he strums another few chords in thought. I watch him as he watches her, and then Kin pulls my hands back under scrutiny. When Kon sees Corey's distracted, he pulls the paper out from under his hand, and the pencil out from behind his ear.

Rachel sits criss-cross-applesauce on the couch and starts to type up a stream. Kin pulls my nails towards him and reads the notes off my hand to Kon like they're words. Corey plays random notes on his guitar while he watches as Rachel leans up and tucks a hair behind her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs:
> 
> You all need to listen to Ronan. True story: The lyrics for that song were taken from his mother's blog, which she kept up before and after he died. One way to bring the tears on is to imagine your mom saying everything about you. Anyway, Ronan was four.


	5. Livewire Run Higher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6
> 
> I'm so excited to share this with all of you… but I think I'm more excited to move on to my next project.
> 
> Today I'd like to make a shout-out to Vartron and eloran,
> 
> Vartron – You threw me for quite the loop when you asked for all 14 chapters at once! I felt like I was drinking out of a fire hose for a minute there! I know it took me a while to get through them all as you were zooming through, but whenever I opened one of your documents I was amazing by your clarity and precision. You truly have a gift with English.
> 
> eloran – Whenever I was working with you I got the feeling you were an old and wise soul. I loved all the little personal comments you put into your manuscript that told me what the story was making you feel. Thank you so much for all your kindnesses and I hope maybe we can work together again in the future?
> 
> I do not own Grojband.

"Hey girls!" Mom smiles when we walk in the door. She takes both of our schoolbags from us and even holds Rachel's up so she can grab her laptop out of it. "How was school?"

"It was pretty cool!" Rachel smiles. "We, um, had a bit of an accident today though."

"Oh? Was it those pesky boys again?" Mom sashays over to the coat rack as Rachel hangs her keys up on a hook on the wall.

"Pesky boys?" I ask. Rachel waves me off.

"It's nothing. You don't need to worry about it. Anyway." She turns her body back towards mom. "A car accident. We had some guys try and tail us. The back of the car's a little beat up, but I called insurance and they said they'll cover it. It'll be in the shop over the weekend." Mom's mouth turns into a little 'O'.

"Ar- are you alright?" She stumbles over her words. Rachel smiles and nods as she hugs my mom.

"We're fine," Rachel reassures her. "No one's hurt and the car will be all better – no boo-boos – by this time Monday!" Then she glances at me and says "Laney was a bit spooked. Could I take her out for tonight?"

"Oh, well, of course!" Mom says. She smiles a little and then steps forward to wrap me up in a hug. "Love you." She whispers in my ear. "Are you alright" I hug her back.

"I'm fine. Already over it." I tell her.

She brushes my bangs with her fingertips. "Well, alright." She murmurs. She glances at Rachel. "Just, both of you be safe out tonight, okay?"

"I'm gonna go grab some things first, but we will. B.R.B!" She vanishes up the stairs.

Mom puts her hands on my shoulders. "Are you sure you're okay Laney?" She asks. I nod.

"A little shell-shocked, I guess." I lean into her a little. "Mom? It felt like they saw Rachel and decided to tail her." Mom sighs.

"Sugar, Rachel's got it a bit hard around here. Try to be understanding." She runs her hands through my hair.

"Everyone likes her more than me."

"Oh Laney, don't think that." She leans down a little so we're eye-to-eye. "She tries hard to be herself, and lots of people like to shovel crud on her for it. You gotta learn to stop shoveling and see how hard she works. Everyone loves you. They love how kind you are, and they love your music. You're so talented!"

"But she's pretty."

"Aren't you?"

I stand there and look at the ground and my shoes as I shift my weight. We both hear a thump and look up to see Rachel as she adjusts her shoe with her teal plastic bag in hand. She changed her shirt too; a deep and rich purple v-neck. I can't remember what she wore before.

"Ready to go?" She asks in a cheerful tone.

"Yeah, are you?"

She sends me a double thumbs-up and comes down the stairs. Red tinges her eyes. She hugs my mom. "Thank you." She breathes. She pecks both of her cheeks in a French custom and whispers in Mom's ear. Mom thinks, then nods assent. She walks us to the door and fiddles with her hands as we slip out.

"Be safe. And remember to be back before curfew!" She tells us.

I blow her a kiss goodbye. "Bye, mom! Love you!" I call. She waits by the open door and bites her lip as we walk away. Rachel reaches the car before me and then goes around to the passenger side, where she climbs in. I stand in front of the car and stare at her in surprise, only to see her smile and gesture for me to get in the front seat. I run over so fast I almost slip and fall on a patch of ice that's formed underneath the rain gutters. I unlock my door and we both switch our seats around. I climb higher and higher as she tries to fit her long legs until the small space mine usually sit. We both laugh at each other.

"Okay, here we go." She swipes upward on her phone and a destination flies onto the car's screen dash. "Can you reach the pedal? Is your seatbelt on?"

I pull my seatbelt on and paw the floor for the gas until I find it. The car lets out a low 'vroom!' She nods. "Do you need me to tell you where any of the controls are?"

"Music volume," I smirk. "Kidding, I already know." I hit the dial to turn up the beats, and to my surprise, one of our bands' songs is playing. "Oh my gosh!" I squeak. "Did you-"

"Buy all your guys albums? Yes!" Rachel claps her hands.

"Oh my gosh ThankyouThankyouThankyou!" I drum my hands on the wheel and then Rachel gestures to the gear shift with a smile. She helps direct me out of the driveway with ease.

The computer gives me accurate enough directions, but Rachel is the one I listen to. She's learned the area well, observing every landmark like she's a prison escapee.

"There's a stop sign up ahead. If you start to slow down while you pass the Redbox, you'll be fine." She says as we cruise along back roads.

"Hurry! I can't solo forever!" Corey calls over the speaker.

"You're gonna have to make a left turn up here, make sure to turn the blinker on two seconds before turning." My fingers trail behind the wheel for a minute before I find the lever and push it down.

"Kon go bongo!' Rachel snorts at Kon's childish tone.

"So, um-"

"Stoplight." I hit the break a little too hard and the seat belt straps slide straight into the space between her breasts. I snort and start to giggle as she flushes bright red and wrestles the strap sideways. She smiles a crooked smile at me. "That's gonna leave a rash." She says as she puts the strap over her shoulder. "Turn left."

I do, somewhat sheepish, and realize we've started to leave the city and head toward the country. The sky, still blue with snowy white clouds and the sun starting to slink to the hills seems different. Rachel tilts her chair back and opens her laptop. "You were saying?" She asks.

"Oh yeah, um, so how's school been for you?" I adjust my hand on the wheel. I can't believe I get to drive a car this nice. It gives me the feeling of… a star from Hollywood. Somewhere Rachel would blend right in and I'd be the one who stands out.

"That's what you wanted to ask?"

"Yeah. That and where are we going?" My eyes float up to watch the gold pavement lines appear in the rearview mirror.

"We're headed towards a destination. School's fine, I guess. People won't chill around me. Couple pesky people." I watch her open her word document out of the corner of my eye, and then she gestures forward. I snap my eyes back to the road and watch the yellow stripes fly out of view beside the car.

"Do you have any… boy problems?" I ask, voice tinged with uncertainty.

She snorts. "90% of my problems would be gone on the spot if boys would leave me alone." She pushes her hair out of her face and fluffs it up as she does. "Check your mirrors." I do as she says.

"And the other ten percent?"

"Girls that like me, this stupid book won't write itself." She shrugs. "Miss my dad."

"You do?" I ask, surprised. It hadn't occurred to me that Rachel had been here for almost a month. September had turned to October, and leaves had started to gain brittle edges. She hadn't seen her dad for ages.

"Yeah. He sends photos and we text, of course, but I miss the option of leaning on him if needed." I nod.

"I get it. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

"Eh, I didn't talk to him a ton, but…" She gets a train of thought and starts to type as she speaks. "Like, he never took the same stance I did. Whether it was a political debate or life problems. We were always kinda on opposite ends. Whenever I had boy problems he was always like: flirt back. Go on a few dates, give him a chance. And when I decided that I didn't want to get married, he wasn't very supportive. Never gave me any grief, but I was the butt of a lot of his jokes. Kind of sucked."

I nod again and relax. It's us. Me and my cousin. As we fly down a poorly-paved road and listen to my music. My eyes gain a pattern as they float from one side of the road to the other. In my mind, I do pretty well, until-

"You're speeding." Rachel comments. I slow down.

I sigh. "I guess I see where you're coming from. My dad's not around a ton, but I'd feel duped if he made jokes about a choice I'd made."

Rachel nods, and as the song ends I hear the click-clack of her fingernails as they hit keys on the keyboard.

"I've never asked – what are you working on?"

"A novel."

"Wow. That's big. How long is it now?"

"276,745 words." My mouth opens a little. "Oh my gosh. How many pages is that?" She shrugs.

"Um, it's about 500 pages."

"And you'll finish when?"

"Well, right now I'm finishing writing. Then I'll go to the editing phase and the beta-reading phase. I'll have to have it edited by a professional, and after that, I begin publishing and advertising. I'm writing the last little bit up to the conclusion right now, which is why I'm always on my laptop."

I don't understand half of what she said. Beta-reading? Isn't advertising for someone else to deal with?

"Wow. That's awesome. What's it about?"

She laughs, and somewhere in that laugh is the word "Life."

"What?" I lean a little towards her. "Can you repeat that?" A smile stretches across my mouth as she laughs a little harder.

"Life. That's all it's about. It's Life."

"How do you write about life?" Writing alone is hard. The sentences chop up in places and there's no rhythm to thoughts.

I glance over to the right mirror and see her smile. "Take a left up ahead. You breathe it out. When you write life it's like… you let all your thoughts fly out with the intensity you get when you're thinking them. Like all that was private is now there and it's one of the most beautiful, intimate things ever."

"Wow." I breathe, not sure what else to say. She laughs.

"I know, intense. Sorry. Drive for about five more minutes and then pick a good place to pull off the road."

"Any place?"

"Yup. Where ever you want." Trees begin to surround us, little grassy areas spread in-between the wooded areas. I follow Rachel's instructions as I back into a spot not far up. It's not much – a little area with a circle of stones. We even have service up here, though only two bars. Rachel walks away to find some wood, and together we burn some old school papers and start a small fire. She opens the back of the car and takes the seats out. These she lays on the ground by the fire with a towel set on each to protect them.

She removes all the polish on my nails and then starts to file the nail I broke. Together we sing a variety of songs, and she teaches me a new one called Whiskey Lullaby. It's quiet and soothing and helps draw the tension out of my shoulders. But it's sad too. I cry a little when I understand the lyrics.

As she draws the file around the edges of my nail to file them into even points, I watch the fire pop and crackle. Since I'm sitting in the back of the car, I can reach down with my foot and brush my toes against the jagged metal. Careful, so that I don't cut anything. "Rachel?" I ask. "Has someone bumped you before?"

She blows on my hand. "Yeah, two or three times. Why?"

"You seemed… so… sure of yourself. And you weren't, y'know, freaked out." She smiles. "Yeah, I've had people start to tail me. It's common in the Americas. Some are drug addicts who want a little money, others like the car, some love the thrill of the danger…." She trails off as she screws up her eyebrows in concentration.

"Some want a little love." I murmur. She flinches and closes her eyes.

"Yeah, some like to get a little handsy." She tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Nothing I can't handle. Color?" I pull a bottle out at random, and she starts to paint.

"Those guys today, who were they?"

"Nobody Laney. Don't worry about it."

"You're playing it off."

She looks up at me and nods. "I'm a bad liar." She acknowledges. "They were drunk. The police got a little bit of information out of them before they went to the holding cells. Saw us as we got lunch, tailed us to the park, lost us for a bit, and saw us again when we pulled out. I noticed them by block two, and the rest is history."

"So, what enticed them? The car, money, food...?"

"Oh, you already know the answer, don't you?" Rachel says in a bitter tone. She dabs at a bit of excess polish on my finger like she's angry. "There's no use in playing it off when all anyone in this town sees is-" She gestures to her face and sighs. "I ought to get breast reductions, or disfigure my face somehow." Then she shakes her head, and I know they're only ideas she plays around with. The truth is, Rachel likes how she is and how she looks. She doesn't like how people react, but you can't fix that without physical mutilation.

If she isn't pretty though, won't she get shuffled around? You're either neglected and forgotten or heralded and targeted.

"Were you crying?" I ask. She looks up, a confused look on her face. "Before we left home? You came down the stairs with red eyes."

"Oh." She shrugs. "I'm fine Laney. You don't need to worry about me."

"You were crying!" I gasp. A weight falls on top of my soul and crushes it like a brick thrown onto an inflated balloon.

She waves me off. "It's fine. A little stress. I've had worse, I can get through it."

"Is there anything I can help with?" I kick myself mentally. That's the type of question people always answer no to. Rachel does seem like the kind of person to ignore social norms, but this time around she shakes her head.

"Nope. Thanks though. Can I ask…" She trails off, dabs my finger, blows on it, and then continues. "What's with you and Corey?"

"Oh, um, we're band members and best friends…" I trail off as my face grows hot. I know the kind of answer she wants to lead me up to, but if she and Corey are gonna become a thing, I don't want to be on her conscience.

"No more?"

"Nope." I reply and pop the 'p' for added drama.

"Oh, dangit, I hoped that'd help get him off my back, y'know if you were already into him."

"Did you just… offer to set us up?"

"Well, not exactly, but it'd be nice to be able to point him in a direction that benefits us all. Y'know, if he tries to ask me out, I could be like: 'no man because it's obvious you like Laney.'"

"You think he likes me?"

"He does, but he's like every other teenage boy, and he's blinded." She rolls her eyes. "You know how to pick the talented boys, but not the smart ones. Kin and Kon are pretty chill now." My face grows even hotter and my smile stretches towards my ears.

"Yeah, I worried at first because they'd all be into you and that it would cause problems, but then Kin and Kon woke up." I realize too late my words might offend, but she waves them off when I look over in concern. As she looks back at the ground I get another question. "Why don't you want to get married?"

She bites her cheek. "It's a little bit of a complicated mess. I didn't grow up with a mom, so when I was little I wanted to have that. There was this one couple who I really looked up to. The wife was a super nice lady. She would keep cookies for me in her purse and her husband was a veteran. I wanted to be them. But when I got older I saw how badly he treated her in passing. He would do buy things like dogs and boats without her permission and roll his eyes and say she was being dramatic when she complained. He said he valued her opinion but he never acted like he did. I remember sitting in the car with them and she was talking about he would always do things and expect her to go along with it and he totally started to guilt trip her. The argument was about the dog. He was teasing her: "I'll return the dog." He said. But everyone in that car knew that if she agreed and asked him to return it since she hated that poor creature so bad he'd just start the guilt trip and play the 'you're so dramatic card.' Afterward, I started looking around in other people's marriages and examples and it made me so stinkin' angry. No one I saw got a fair say in their marriage. But everyone just nodded and said 'that's how it is.'"

She grumbled in frustration, but I couldn't find anything to say. She sighs. "I just... don't want to see my opinion lowered to that. Ever." Neither of us says anything else, and gradually the conversation shifts to more pleasant topics.

We talk for ages about Corey, Kin, and Kon, about the band and school, and whatever else comes up. It's cool to have someone to talk to, nice to know I can trust her with my secrets.

At some point, she produces a bag of KFC that she must have picked up before school or something. We sit in the car seats and she lets me paint her toenails. I'm not as neat, and she gets a stripe of polish up her ankle when I draw the brush back, but she laughs and says they're lovely. I set mine in a portable UV light she has, and seconds later, they're dry. Golden and sparkly, with little leopard-print patterns on my ring fingers.

Canada is getting colder, so the night bites. Rachel wraps me up in the white jacket she wore on the first day of school. We listen to the car radio while we edge our seats closer and closer to the dying fire. I'm not sure when I doze off.

Later, Rachel helps me stand up and guides me over to the passenger side of the car. She buckles me up as I lean sideways into the headrest. She goes back to put the food and polish into the car, put out the fire, and pack up the seats. Before I fall asleep again, her phone buzzes. It vibrates like someone's calling, so I reach over to see who it is. It's no one but a number without a name who texts a string of vulgar words.

'Baby im bored'

'Gurl u wanna come over 2 my house and werk it? ;)"

'R u even getting these.'

'I know where ur living'

'Did u hear me'

One different number has sent a single text: 'Hey rachel this is corey." The other douchebag has been blown up Rachel's phone for the past fifteen minutes straight. My eyes burn and guilt fills me on behalf of my invasion of Rachel's privacy, but I read on.

'Can I get a prtty smile?'

'send pics?'

'ur sexy, I want u here'

When I hear her approach, I put her phone back into the center console. Then I lean my head back and pretend to be asleep, which isn't hard when you consider I'm exhausted.

Rachel gets in the car a few minutes later. She starts the car and warm air starts to flow. I watch her through my lashes as she picks up her phone and starts to scroll through the messages. She opens Corey's message and assigns him a contact. A couple new messages come through from douchebag, but I can't see them. What I do see is the following: Rachel turns on the car light, opens the door, and steps out. Then, I hear her start to cry. In the dimness of the car light and the reflected headlights, I see her wipe at her face and shake from the emotional torment. I think about what would happen if I got out and gave her a hug, but I don't want her to know I read the messages. I bite my lip and watch the frame of her shoulders shake.

After a few minutes, she sits back down and pulls the door shut. She turns off her text notifications and clears her notification history. Then she starts to play music and throws her phone into the backseat. Before she starts to drive she flips her mirror down and fixes her makeup.

I don't know where we go, but we don't go straight home. Rachel drives for at least an hour. She takes more turns than I can count and looks up at the stars. The gentle thrum of the engine and Rachel's soft singing to her songs lulls me to sleep. In my dreams, I sail across the sun, make it to the milky way, fall for a shooting star, and dance in the light of day. When I look down at my hand, I see the words: "Realization hits like a bullet hits bricks. You and I, we do nothing but mix."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs:
> 
> One of my favorite shirts is the one I described Rachel putting on.
> 
> Laney talking to Rachel after first getting in the car("Do you know where everything is?") Is exactly the conversation I had with my mom when she first took me into the car to start teaching me to drive. All the way up to the comment about music volume.
> 
> The system technology I am describing in Rachel's car can be seen in the short video A Day Made of Glass.
> 
> I kinda called my dad out here a little. When I first started describing myself as a feminist and told him I felt like we should be on equal footing with the law he liked to make jokes about it. We'd be with family and he'd say something like: "Yeah, she thinks that girls ought to rule the world!" and laugh at me a little even though he knew I didn't support that at all. Sometimes it was easy to brush off. Sometimes it wasn't.
> 
> I also called out my parent's marriage here. I loved when they were working together but I hated how easily my dad's opinion overruled my mom's and how when they started arguing we all knew he'd find a way to win. Also, she hated our dog. Hated it.
> 
> Whiskey Lullaby is by Brad Paisley. It's sad.
> 
> So that really dark scene where Rachel is talking about mutilating herself? Based off of Breast Ironing Tactics.
> 
> Shoutout to my BFF Victoria on those texts Rachel was getting. She helped me lots with those because they were tough for me to write.
> 
> Hopefully you all caught that really obvious reference to Drops of Jupiter by Train. I wanted to include popular music references since Laney is a band kid.


	6. The Nearness of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe we left off before Chapter Five… yes, that's right.
> 
> Fun fact, the font is Verdana 9 pt. Knowing that makes uploading so much easier.
> 
> I'd like to make a shout-out to Million Arthur The Yuri King and Silverskrill Elysia.
> 
> Million Arthur The Yuri King = First impression? Holy crap this person's fast! Second impression? Holy crap they know what they're doing! So, so grateful for people like you whom I could rely on to give me good, solid advice. Thank you so much! In talking with you I loved your immense vocabulary and your spirited comments. Some of your comments truly made me laugh. I hope you consider this story worthy of your time.
> 
> Silverskrill Elysia = Tactful, professional, kind. I was amazed by your eloquent speech from the moment you sent a message back. I sincerely hope you weren't too put-off by my back-and-forth motions as I rushed around to finish this. I also enjoyed your #protips as you taught me some text shortcuts and grammar rules. Thank you so much for beta reading for me.

From this spot in the library, I can see Rachel as she sits on a beanbag, tucked up with her hair behind her ears. She's done this style with it- curled her hair into hundreds of soft spirals and used a clip to pile them atop her head. Her hair's too thick for the clip, so she's let the extra curls fall away to line her face and neck. They're irresistible to the guys here. Since we arrived, three men have leaned over to try and be sexy as they brush the curls off the back of her neck. She grabbed the wrist of the last guy who did it and pushed him off her. Not much else has happened besides the usual amount of stares.

When I flick my eyes to the left, I can see the lines in the hall stall as people notice Rachel's in here. It's been a week; I wish they'd move on already. Kin and Kon treat her like a normal person, but they among others are few in many.

Rachel's fingers fly over her laptop. I don't know if she's working on lyrics for the band or her word document. She interchanges so often that I've decided to not keep track.

A pink figure appears in the hallway. Trina. She leans up against the glass and forces people to navigate around her. Her eyes send daggers toward Rachel.

There's the slightest shift in Rachel's figure. She raises her chin, straightens her back even more, and trains her eyes on her laptop. She knows Trina is watching her. There's an edge in her eyes that says "Bring it on, Cotton Candy."

Trina gets the message. She vanishes from the hallway. Seconds later the door swings open and for the first time in living memory, Trina is in the library. I pull a book off the shelf and head back over to Rachel because, hell, this is gonna be a show. Two of the most headstrong, stubborn girls in the school as they face off; this is something everyone would want to see.

I get there as Trina does, and plop into an adjacent chair as Rachel hits save and directs her eyes upwards. "Can I help you?" Her voice sounds full like she's trying her best to be as kind as possible.

"Yeah, sure, pack your bags and go back to whatever hole you climbed out of." Trina spits a raspberry, which misses and lands next to Rachel. The librarian notices and snarls an insult out at Trina, but Rachel starts to talk, so no one listens to her.

"Sorry, sugar-honey." Rachel crosses her thighs. "I'm kinda booked here until my dad decides he's done with Africa. Or until I turn eighteen, either one."

"Sugar-honey?" I ask Rachel. She laughs and winks at me.

"Of course. You can be my sugar-baby if you like?" She teases me. There's a twinkle in her eyes and humor behind her mask.

I snort. "Hard pass, thanks."

"Hey! Listen!" Trina snaps her fingers at Rachel. "I don't know who you are or what pile of-"

"Rachel Barabossi." Rachel jams her hand into the space Trina's fingers occupy. "Writer, dancer, feminist."

Trina lets out a laugh. "Feminist? What, are you some sort of neo-Nazi?"

Rachel laughs at herself, but her laugh is a higher, lighter sound. The room swoons as she leans forward and blinks her long lashes. "Of course not! Feminism, as defined, is the belief men and women should have equal rights and opportunities." She says. "A feminist means that I want to be equal to everyone else under the law. It means I'm against manipulation."

"What are you even talking about?"

"Well, it means I should have the right to say yes and no, and I should be able to walk down the street and go to school and write!" She picks up her laptop with a satisfied smile. "Especially write."

I tap my fingers as I think. I guess she makes sense a little, but I've always thought of feminism as the crazy girls who rip their shirts off and scream that you can't judge them. I guess I could be Rachel's type of a feminist. After all, there's no reason Corey and I shouldn't be allowed to perform side-by-side. I like to create things as much as Rachel does too. We're a little similar in that regard.

Trina rolls her eyes. "Whatever. You're digging for compliments. What, you want me to ask what you write about? Pathetic! You're pathetic."

"Young lady." The librarian lands a hand on Trina's shoulder and points a finger towards the door. "Leave. Now. Take your attitude with you." She nods at the raspberry which has begun to soak into the carpet. "Clean that up before you go." Trina snaps her fingers, and after a moment's delay, her henchmen/best friend Mina appears out of nowhere with a wad of tissues.

Trina huffs at Rachel as the librarian pushes her towards the door. "This isn't over!" She shouts before she trips over the uneven tile and falls into a heap. She stands back up and opens the door, but the librarian glares and Trina close it again. She glares at Rachel through the glass.

Rachel pushes a stray curl behind her ear and aligns her fingers on her keypad again. "That poor Sugar-Honey." She says in sympathy.

"Trina?" I scoff. Rachel nods.

"Does she know what it's like to not have such a bad reputation around her?" Rachel asks as we watch Trina stalk off down the hall. She sounds sympathetic. Rachel must be crazy. Trina is the single most vile person I know. I hate her. I hate her so much I wouldn't feel bad if she stepped on a Lego.

I bite my hate back so I can shrug and open the book I picked out, titled: 'When my Sister Started Kissing.' "She built her reputation."

Rachel nods. "And now she's gotta live up to it."

The way Rachel says it makes it sound like Trina's trapped. But she couldn't be, could she? After all, she chooses to be the way she is.

I stop for a second. I like dresses. I like makeup. I like delicate trinkets and pretty hats and singing to songs about boys and drama. But I also like my instruments and my friends. I like being in a band. So a lot of the time I don't think about the things I like to do that I don't do anymore. I guess I picked my reputation too, and now I've got to live up to the way I am.

My eyes flit to Rachel. I wonder what she makes herself live up to?

The library door opens, and another Riffin steps in. Not the bubble-gum pink one, but one who sports blue, orange and our band's logo. I smile and sit a little straighter.

"Hey, Corey!" I say as he slinks over to us. For once, his eyes are on me. He holds out his fist.

"Hey, Lanes." He says as his knuckles tap the ring Rachel loaned me. "You look nice today."

I smile despite myself and say: "Thank you." Today Rachel offered to curl my hair and now my red hair bobs around my head in springs. Corey looks back over at Rachel and leans forward. As she trains her eyes on her screen, he brushes that one loose curl out of her face. She snaps her head away from his grasp and a hand comes up to push his palm away. Before she can pull it back to herself though, Corey grabs her hand.

"I-erm wanted to ask you a question." He says. He pulls her hand closer to him. Rachel looks up in dread.

"Can I have your number?" He asks. His voice is smooth and suave and all that it is in my dreams.

"I-erm." She stutters.

The bell rings. She jumps up and shuts her laptop before her work saves. "Um, let me think about it." She pants. "Bye!" With her schoolbag slung over her shoulder and her prized laptop in both hands, she takes off. She weaves her way through the crowd and is gone in an instant. Corey looks downtrodden. He sighs and lets his hand fall by his side.

My courage wavers, but then I reach out and manage to grab his fingers. He looks up at me in surprise and – this is it. This is the moment I tell him how much and how long I've loved him. I love everything about him. I love the way he smiles, how his fingers look on his guitar. I love how he's almost never sad. My mouth slips open, and I say "Don't worry. She said she'll think about it."

My heart closes in on itself and dies. But he brightens up and says "Yeah, that's true. I guess I'll have to wait for an answer. Thanks, Lanes!" His fingers slip out of my grasp, and I'm left with an empty feeling. The bell rings, and I am late for English.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Here's what I have so far!" Rachel proclaims as she swipes her fingers along her phone screen and hands it over. "It's not much, but I'm trying to layer meaning, see?"

I take the phone with excitement and enlarge the text. "So the story goes, so they say. No jewels could reclaim the price I paid." I read aloud. Rachel sucks in a breath through her teeth and looks over at me as she waits for the blow. I don't know why; I already love it.

"That's brilliant! It could go with the last little bit of my nail song, and then we could have Corey's riff come after it. So it'd be like:" I clear my throat and push down on my Adam's Apple to substitute for the fact I haven't exactly warmed up yet. I run through the lyrics once more, but with a tune. Then, it's my turn to wait for her opinion. Unlike her, I don't fear the criticism. I know I am good at music.

"Whoo!" Rachel takes a hand off the wheel to cheer for a moment. I smile in triumph.

"Now," I gush. "We need to figure out what comes before that line. After that, we can start to piece together all the notes that Kin and Kon have worked on. Oh! By the way-" I open up my phone and pull up our almanac app. Saved into a new file and attached to our weekly band practice is a recording of new bars Kin, Kon and I all put together. I connect my phone to the car since it doesn't sync like Rachel's, and then play the recording over the car speakers. Each one has a fresh, catchy, and new beat to it. It's like our entire souls are going into this one song.

"So," Rachel says when the last bar has ended. "I do have a piece I've worked on for the first part of the 'nail solo'. Should be on the same page you read off of." I scroll up, hard.

"You asked for forgiveness, tried to fix your own mess." I read aloud.

"I have this debate on it because it's got a different tempo than the first two. Meant to be a bounce, not a line of thought." Rachel explains.

"I've got an idea!" I announce. "You asked for forgiveness, tried to fix your own mess. I laughed because I recognized how your lies would regress. So the story goes, so they say, no jewels could reclaim the price I paid."

"Boom-shaka-lacka." Rachel says, both eyebrows raised for dramatic effect. "Those are some killer lyrics right there." I laugh.

"Better than 'Salute to me, I'm your American queen and you move to me like I'm a Motown beat.'?"

Rachel lets out a low hiss. "Oh gosh, those were pretty killer, the way she said them. But yeah, these dominate the market."

"Nice!" I raise my hand for a high-five. She slaps my hand, and a sharp pain runs through my arm. "Ow!" I snap my hand down and examine the wound. "You broke one of my nails."

"Oh no!" Rachel says. Her face contorts. She takes my hand and we both look at the damaged finger. "I'm so sorry!" She says. "I'll fix it when we get home if you like." She drops my hand to put the car into gear. We sat out by the park and ate lunch away from the school. Rachel doesn't seem to like to sit with everyone else. I don't blame her. The freshmen are annoying as is possible.

She checks her blind spot and moves into traffic. I check with her since I'm a student driver and it's good for me to get the practice and the observation hours in.

"How about we don't head back to the school?" I hum as I baby my finger. "it's not like we're going to do anything important today."

"Ah, nah girl. I've never skipped out on a class in my life, absences aside, and I'm not about to break that record any time soon. Besides, I have Ballroom and German after lunch." She winks sideways at me. Rachel loves to dance. She'll always turn on Taylor Swift in her room and dance around her bed. She's good at it too, I'll admit. She knows how to hold her shoulders back and her chin up.

"Don't you ever want to take a drive to nowhere? Leave for a few hours for no reason?" I trail my fingers along the base of the window. The warm sun tickles my skin. I smile nonchalantly.

"Oh, all the time. But I also love school and the lessons they teach."

"I'm glad you love your schedule so much. School seems to come so easy for you." I struggle. English for example sucks. There's so many rules and participles to remember. I know I'll end up breaking them anyway when I write songs. Math is too constricting, not freeing enough. I like science because fire is cool but I can count on one hand how many times we've been allowed to set something on fire in a lab.

She shrugs. "Well, it's a little easier when you consider I came over from Europe. Europe likes to stick a little ahead of the Americas. Not like Eastern Asia's courses though. Students get so stressed over there they kill themselves."

"Ouch. So, this is all review for you?"

"No. But the schools here are… relaxed. Oh hey, have you heard this new song?" She turns the radio up. "Selena Gomez's new song. She used to play on Wizards of Waverly Place."

"Oh wow, I haven't seen that show in ages. What happened to it?" I used to watch that when I was little. It was one of my favorites.

"Discontinued. After season four they ended it."

"Oh." A chunk of my childhood dies. "Who did Alex end up with?"

Rachel hums in thought as she takes a right-hand turn onto our school's road. "I don't remember. So long as it isn't Mason, I'm fine."

"You don't like Mason?"

"No! Oh my gosh, he was such a drama queen!" Rachel laughs. As we come up to the school, I glance into the right blind spot since I expect her to turn. When we miss the turn without her even trying to make it, I glance back at her. She turns down the radio and glances into the rear-view mirror with a concerned expression.

"What is it?" I ask. I twist around to try and see what's caught her attention, but she puts a gentle hand on my shoulder and shakes her head.

"Someone started to follow us a few blocks ago. I thought they would pass us right before I turned, but I'm sure they've decided to tail us now. I don't know them. They don't look like teens. "

"Is it a policeman?" I ask. She shakes her head.

"No. They don't have any lights on top."

I glance into the side-view mirror and see a man – older – peek his head out of the passenger window of a blue pick-up truck. He waves us down to try to get us to pull over.

"Did you see that?" I ask. I turn back towards her and my palms start to feel sweaty. Adrenaline fills my body.

Rachel nods and begins to tap her fingers on the wheel. "Um, Laney, why don't you open up my phone and find the contact listed 'Emergency Numbers'? 'Peaceville Police' should be halfway down the list? Ask if there are any local officers." She starts to grind her teeth.

I reach over and pluck her smartphone out of the center council. Rachel takes a left and starts to head back to the main street. "Where are you going?" I inquire as I fumble the buttons of her password. She likes long numerical digit passwords that resemble strings of code. This one is X14T27fOUR.

"Back to the highway. That way there's more cars if they want to try a bump-and-rob."

"A what?"

"Where they hit the back of my car and try and get me to pull over and exchange insurance information. Then they rob you at gunpoint or worse."

"Worse?" I hit the Emergency Numbers contact. There's a string of insurance companies, emergency services, and a 'nice let-down line'.

She deadpans over at me. "Oh Laney," She sighs. "There are so many worse things in this world than gunpoint robberies." She takes a left on the highway and starts to head toward busy downtown. The car disappears from my rear-view mirror.

"Are they gone?" I ask as my finger hovers over the number labeled 'Peaceville Police.'

"No." Rachel shakes her head. Her eyes return to the rear-view mirror more often. "They've started to tailgate us now." I hit the number, and hold the phone to my ear, but then the entire car starts to dial. Bluetooth; duh. My cheeks turn a little pink as I lower the phone down from my ear and reach over to turn up the volume so she can hear the call properly.

There's a click. "Peaceville police station, how may I direct your call?" A man says through the phone.

"Hello, I'd like to know if there are any police officers in the area." Rachel says. She takes a left, and I realize we're back where we started. On the right-hand side of the road, headed down to the high school. "I'm down on Maple Avenue, over by Peaceville High."

"Give me a moment, let me check." Silence for a few seconds. "We have an officer parked two blocks from the school, not to mention the school officer himself."

"I am in need of an officer. We have a cerulean pick-up truck that's tailed us for a while to try and get us to pull over. We do not recognize them and fear they're following us with intent to harm."

"How long has this been your suspicion? Are you certain they aren't trying to return your possessions or alert you of car damage?"

"I'm not certain and for almost ten minutes sir. I've driven in a full circle and they've continued to tail us-" Something nudges the back of our car. Not hard, but enough for us to know they're there.

"-They've bumped the car." Rachel continues. "I'm driving a blue Volkswagen Scirocco, year 2016."

"I've alerted the officer in the area, he'll be along in a minute. Please stay on the line."

Rachel smiles over at me and pats my hand. She stays on the same road and then circles through a neighborhood to come back around. The car comes up again, disappears from the side-view mirror, and bumps us again as we come up the high school's road. As we pass in front of the school one more time, the phone line comes back to life.

"Ma'am? Are you still on the line?"

"Yes, sir." Rachel answers.

"The officer in the area has reported that he may have found you. Have you passed the high school or can you see the officer in your rear-view mirror?"

"Yes, and-" Rachel adjusts the rear-view mirrors. "Yes. I can see him. Behind the pick-up." I glance out my side-view, but I can't see any cars. He must be following closer on the left side than the right. I have to take her word for it.

"Pull over." The voice instructs. "Keep your doors locked and windows rolled up."

There's a loud bang. I hear a siren start as Rachel heads to the right side of the road. The doors unlock, but she locks them back up and freezes the windows. The pick-up truck and the police car blaze past us in a fury of lights and sound. My skin feels like ice. It's like I jumped out of my skin and never returned. Did they just shoot?

I hear Rachel as she updates the man on the phone and thanks him for his help before she hangs up. We sit in the car for a little while as we calm down; I go numb. She pushes a bottle of water into my hands; after a long time, she unlocks the car doors. She guides me up to the school and goes to the attendance office to get our tardiness cleared. She leaves me in the counseling office to stare at a picture of the school and sit in a large, squashy chair. The shock lingers for a few hour-like minutes, and then I there's a prickle of pain and look down at my broken nail.

I'd forgotten it was even there.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I show up halfway through Geography with Kin, Kon, and Corey. They all chatter in the corner of the room, eyes glued to their cell phones. Worksheets lay abandoned in front of them. Kin finished his but no one else has. Kon didn't even bother to begin. He has a C in this class. I push my backpack under the table and sit down.

"Hey, Laney." Kin whispers as Corey and Kin strain their necks to look at his phone. Corey looks up, his eyes bright and excited. "Hey, Lanes!" He calls, his voice low too.

I wave. "Whatcha guys looking at?" I ask as I pull Kin's assignment over to me. It's pretty straightforward, label and color the map. Like we haven't been doing this since we were kids. Europe.

"Laney –" Kon says sideways as he reaches over Kin's arm to scroll don for him. Kin smacks his arm. "I wasn't done reading!" He growls.

"So what! I was!" Kon argues back. He's a bit of a brute force.

"What Kon?"

"Oh, sorry, we got assigned our 2nd term project today."

"What?" I groan. "And to think I missed it!" What rotten luck. "What're we doing?"

"Take your assigned country, write a paper, and give a visual presentation to the class," Kin says over Kon, eyes still glued to the screen.

"Ouch." I scribble down France, Ireland, Italy, and Portugal. The obvious ones. "What did we get?"

"Germany." Kin answers.

"Heil!" Corey laughs. Kin and I both roll our eyes at his excuse of a joke, but Kon laughs.

"Well, that's easy. We could ask Rachel for help. She's come over from living there."

Corey rips his eyes off the screen and blinks several times to readjust to his surroundings. "Rachel lived in Germany?"

I realize my mistake too late.

"Oh, um, yeah. She said it was one of her favorite places. She also lived, or at least stayed in Austria, France, Switzerland and Greece."

"That's cool! Hey, could we get her to come in for part of our lecture?"

"It's supposed to be a visual lecture," I say.

"Rachel is visual. And besides," He waves his hand. "She's got German this hour. We could talk to the teachers and see if she could get a grade out of it too?"

Both Kin and Kon look up at Corey. I can't read their expressions, but they seem surprised. "Um, pretty as Rachel is, I'm not sure she counts as a visual."

"No, but…" Corey stumbles over the words he wants to use. "A physical manifestation! And as part of the visual. We'll still need to have pictures or posters. We could whip up a powerpoint that we could present and then do a mock interview with Rachel. Have the class ask her questions and ask her things ourselves when things get slow?"

Kin still seems offset by Corey's comment, but nods. "It could work. Be wicked too."

"Oh, um, yeah," I say as I color in Bosnia and Herzegovina. "We could-"

"We could walk you out to the car when the bell rings and ask her then!" Corey interrupts. Kin and Kon both send him a cheeky half-smile. I smile at him too because his whole face lights up and he almost falls off his chair. Kon scrolls down for Kin again, their attention on the screen again. Kin nudges Kon aside.

"I asked what you guys were looking at a while ago and you never answered." I send a pointed look in their direction. There are ten more minutes of class and I can't remember any more of the countries of Europe. I tuck the paper away with intents to do it later. Rachel could rack all these off, I bet. Maybe I'll ask her. "What is it?"

"Oh, it's not much," Corey says. "It's a short article on a high-speed chase that ended in Peaceville.

"What?" I ask as I lean over to get a glimpse of the screen. The entire screen is words – I can't believe Kon is still reading.

"Yeah. Didn't you hear it start? The sirens started outside our school." A lead weight drops into my stomach.

"Oh? Who was it?"

"Sounds like some drunk idiot. Had drugs in his trunk he didn't want to get caught with. Was high and such. Someone called the police around the end of our lunch class. They might have let them go if they hadn't taken out the advertisement sign outside of the burger joint. After that, they chased them for a while."

"Car?"

Oh, um, I don't know. There was a picture up here." Corey snatches Kin's phone amid protests from said owner and Kon and swipes down. He hands the screen over to me, and I stare at the pickup that started to follow us.

"Oh," I say. "It's good they caught them."

Kin takes his phone back. Corey continues to talk. "Yeah, what luck."

"Two men were in the car," Kin says. "Armed. Caught when they ran out of gas. More information to come." I shiver. Rachel was right – robbed at gunpoint.

"Five minutes," Corey says. Kin and Kon grab their backpacks up off the floor in sync. Corey folds his assignment several times before he stuffs it in his pocket. Kon grabs both his and Kin's papers and puts them in his bag as Corey swings his legs around and sits up on the desk. I jump up with him, and after a minute we lean against each other, back to back.

Kin pretends to tip an imaginary hat to Kon as an end to a conversation I missed. He leans over and grabs my phone out of my back pocket before he opens up the camera. I jump toward it.

"Ah, nah!" He wags a finger. "As, you were, as you were." I lean back against Corey as Kin draws his hands together like he's praying. I fall back, and Core and I both put up a hand to portray the rock symbol. Kin snaps a picture, draws my phone back and yells: "Go long, Corey!"

He throws my phone. I flinch. Corey catches it over my shoulder with no complications whatsoever. He tilts the screen sideways and says: "Good photo Kin."

He hands it sideways to me and I take a look too. "Huh, not bad." It isn't. Even though it's dark in here he made the most of the light that comes in the window. And for once the photo is clear. You can see us, we're not fuzzy. "I guess you're our official photographer." Kin laughs.

I hit the share button and start to type Rachel's name into the receiver box. I hit send at the same time the bell rings. I swing my backpack up onto my shoulder and then Corey loops his arm through mine.

"C'mon!" He cheers. "Let's go see Rachel!

My worry vanishes, my fears flee. I smile as we skip out the door. Kin and Kon throw the straps of their backpacks on to try to follow but get caught in the crowd. Corey pulls me all the way down the hall and rushes me out the front doors where Rachel usually parks. His beanie slips off a little, so I reach up and put it back in its place. He grins in a cheeky manner.

He looks around. "Did Rachel leave without you?"

The world seems a little darker when my perfect moment ends. "Oh, um," I say.

Rachel parked over by the road. I don't know if she's even out of class yet though. I swallow when I remember the men in the truck who bumped us. "We're out by the road today. I dunno if she's out yet." Kin and Kon appear behind us, huffing.

"Where's…. Rachel?" Kon asks while he bites his breaths out. Corey sticks a finger in the air and yells: "To the roadside!" Before he pulls me along with the force of a speeding train. Gosh, someone's excited to see my cousin.

There's a crowd of people made up of policemen who stand around Rachel's car. By crowd, I only mean four or five, but it feels like a lot when most people prefer to watch Rachel from a distance.

"Wow!" Corey says. "Wonder what all the commotion is? Drug bust?"

"Not exactly Core." I murmur.

"Hey, kids, we're gonna need you to clear the scene. Unless your car is parked here, you gotta leave." One of the officers' calls. He's tall, with a mustache that's clipped too short on one side which gives his face a weird squashed-in sort of look.

"I- um, I have to wait for my cousin." I point in the general direction of Rachel's car. "Rachel Barabossi?" I see Corey blink. He didn't know her last name. Oh gosh, what if he's written her name down Mrs. Rachel Riffen? My stomach turns.

"Ms. Barabossi? Are you Laney Penn?"

"Yessir," I slurr the words together.

"Right this way. We need to-"

"Laney!" Rachel waves at me from the hood of the Sirocco. She holds a handful of papers stacked offset. Behind her ear, she balances a pen. I pull Corey, who is still linked to me, over. Kin and Kon follow. They wilt under the gazes of the officers.

"Oh my gosh," I whisper when I see the car. Most of it is okay, of course, since we were only bumped from behind. But the backside looks like it's folded-in a little in some places. Parts of the exterior have ripped away and broken. It looks like when you cut a soda can open. I shiver.

Rachel pushes a few papers into my hands when I get close enough to her. Corey removes his arm from mine and lets me go ahead.

"You'll need to write a statement about what happened. Insurance already called and they said they'll cover the car. Are you hurt at all? Any whiplash?" I shake my head and look down at the papers. They look like a school assignment. 'Write a short response to a recent experience you had. Then, answer the questions about what occurred'.

"What happened?" Corey asks. Kin and Kon both lean forward to listen in. Rachel smiles.

"Nothing. Someone bumped our car to try and rob us. We're both alright, right Laney?" I nod and bend over the car to write my statement. Rachel gives me the pen, still warm, from behind her ear. Corey, Kin, and Kon continue to ask Rachel questions. She reassures them and explains what happened. I finish with the response and the questions and sign my name at the bottom.

I hand them to Rachel, who takes them and thanks me. Before she walks off I ask: "Who were they?"

She smiles again and the edges of her eyes crinkle up in stress. Her smile pulls back a little too far. Her balance is offset and she leans too far back to be upright.

"I don't know." She says. There is truth to that tone. "Someone who wanted a little cash, that's all." She shifts her weight and seems to regain herself. "The car's unlocked – feel free to hop in. We'll drive it home and I'll get it fixed over the weekend. Start whatever music you want." She disappears toward one of the officers' cars. I open the front seat and climb in. My friends follow.

No one requests any music. No one even says anything. Corey looks stifled in the silence. I find Rachel's phone and the keys in the center console. I start the car without the engine since you have to reach the brake for that, and her phone connects. This time, I don't fumble the password and start her music. New Year's Day is the first song on. I let it play because I like to listen to slow songs when I'm feeling nostalgic. I wait for Corey's sound of disgust or Kin and Kon's barf imitations, but they stay quiet.

"Don't read the last page. I want your midnights, but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day." I sing. A hand lands on my shoulder and curls into my neck. I look up and see Corey as he sticks his head into the front seat with a smile.

He pats my shoulder once more, then slides back into his seat. The driver-side door opens and Rachel slides in.

"Okay guys, I'm back. Sorry that it took so long." She flicks her phone screen on while she presses the brake to see what she's missed and to start the car. "Cute picture Laney." She says.

"Oh!" I remember the photo I sent her before we left class. "Thanks."

She swipes left on her music and says: "Let's listen to an upbeat song. Ever heard of Jesper Jenset?"

"No?" Kon responds a statement that sounds like a question. Kin shakes his head. She hits the song and glances into the rear-view mirror. "Buckle up." Our hands all launch for the straps over our shoulders. She pulls out as she sings along. "Maybe next time we can go a little longer, maybe somehow we can grow a little stronger. Let's go somewhere only we know; I can be your superhero."

Another voice joins in from the backseat. "Maybe someday we can get in my car, keep on driving; no matter how far."

Rachel looks back. "You know this song, Corey?"

"Yeah. It plays a lot at dance parties. I can't believe you guys don't know it."

I shake my head. "Never heard it before." I answer amidst sounds of agreement from Kin and Kon. "That sounds like a lie."

"Oh ha, ha." Corey says.

"Corey, your sister's started to flag us down." Rachel informs us as she takes the same turn we took earlier.

"Aw dammit." He says.

"Language." She reprimands. She puts on her blinker and pulls to the side of the road. Pinktastic pulls in front of us and then rolls backward. Rachel looks on in boredom as the pink car continues to inch back. "She's gonna hit our car if she keeps in reverse like that." She comments.

Trina stops inches from us, so close Rachel's hand is on the gear shift, ready to move if needed. Trina gets out of her car and marches over, red-faced.

"Good afternoon Trina. How are you this fine day?" Rachel says as she puts the parking brake on. She reaches behind her seat for a book, which Kon hands her without comment. She props it up on her steering wheel while she fishes to take off her shoes – cute little brown booties with fringe. These she puts in the center console. She's got small feet.

The window gets cracked open a few inches, and Trina plants her hands on the glass. "Where is my pesky little brother?" She snaps as she tries to see past the driver's seat and Rachel. Corey ducks behind the driver's seat. Rachel eyes Trina's hands.

"Sugar-honey? Dear? Listen, even though the car will be fixed this weekend, I don't want your fingerprints all over it." She reaches up and peels one of Trina's fingers off the glass. A solid white mark is the one mark left behind, like Trina's skin peeled off. She looks pissed. So angry she could shoot bullets out of her nostrils. I imagine all the times she's blown up and we've stolen her diary. Rachel winces at the mark on the window, I wince at the memories.

"My brother." Trina spits. "Location. Now?"

Rachel sighs, picks up her phone and starts to type. After a minute, she shows the phone to Trina. "There he is."

"That's a string of numbers!" Trina shrieks.

"No, it's his latitude and longitude. Didn't you learn this in 9th grade? Or is it 7th grade?" Rachel turns her head toward me with a question.

"9th." I answer. Rachel nods, and I glance into the back of the car, where Kin, Kon, and Corey all wear the same looks of amusement.

"Listen Trina, I gotta head out. I'm on a time-crunch, see?" She taps her watch. "If I see Corey, I'll take the opportunity and drop him off at home. He may be on the bus?"

Trina growls like a rabid animal, but steps away from the car. Rachel smiles, dips her head and rolls up the window. She puts the book in the console and waves as we roll out.

"Thanks for that." Corey comments. Rachel shrugs. She hums along to the Jesper Jenset song.

"Hey, Rachel?" Kin calls. "We have to do a presentation on Germany, and Laney told us you'd lived there for a few years. Could you come in as part of the visual bit of the presentation? We thought it'd be cool to do a sort of class interview, where they could ask you questions?"

"You want me to do the work for you?"

"No." I cut Kin off. "We've already made plans to do a PowerPoint presentation, and we'll have to write an essay. The idea was that it might be cool for you to come in. And you have German that hour anyway, so we could talk to the teacher and see if you can get extra credit for it. "

"Rachel nods. "It's workable." She reasons. "We'll have to see."

"Yes!" Kon fist-pumps. Rachel laughs at him.

We drop Kin and Kon off first, and then Corey hops out, walks around, and leans on the driver-side door. "Hiya, Rachel." He starts when she rolls down the window. "Have you thought about whether I can have your number yet?" Rachel winces and leans forward so she can glance over at me. Why? Does she think I'll be able to stop the inevitable? Can't she tell I've been trying?

I watch her, still turned away from Corey, mouth "Is that okay?" One hand grips a handful of hair on top of her head as she traces her fingers through her own thick tendrils. She looks over at me with an apology in her eyes. I shrug. She draws in a breath and turns to look back at Corey, confidence restored.

"Um, sure. Give me your hand." She pulls out a sparkly purple marker out of her pocket. I raise an eyebrow at the location. Corey reaches his wrist into the window and Rachel grabs onto it. She scribbles her number in sparkly purple ink on his forearm.

"There." She declares after a while. She lets go of his wrist, but before she can draw it away, he grabs her hand.

"Thanks, Rachel. Um, can I call you later then?" Rachel tugs her hand away with a brittle smile I can see reflected in the side mirror. "I may be out somewhere tonight, but we'll see." Out? Since when? Corey nods. "Sounds cool. Oh, Laney, we're gonna have to get the band together sometime to throw all those chords together. Do you two have lyrics?"

"Yeah Core." I start to explain them, but then my voice cracks. I guess I'm more worked up than I thought I was.

"She wouldn't let you down." Rachel says to fill in for me. I look away and close my eyes.

"Yeah, I know. She's the most reliable out of all us." I look back at him and my soul fills up with hope, but then he starts to stutter over himself. "Oh! Um, I mean, that – It's not like – um – It's not like I'm not reliable, but you know…." I can hear him as he scuffs his shoes on the sidewalk, and chuckle. Rachel gives him a nice, pretty sort of half smile.

"Yeah, I get it. Bye Corey." Rachel says. She puts the car in gear and pulls out of the driveway. She rolls down my window for me as I reach for the button, so I lean out of the window and yell "Bye Corey!" He salutes me with a cheeky grin. I wave, and the car starts to move.

A new song starts to play before the current one ends, and I cast a cheeky grin over at Rachel. She laughs. "I thought you'd enjoy the favor." I laugh along with her, and we drive home singing: "Salute to me, I'm your American Queen. You move to me like I'm a Motown beat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs:
> 
> All of Rachel's description on Feminism is directly from Tumblr by Pinterest. Love Pinterest.
> 
> When My Sister Started Kissing is a real book. Pretty good.
> 
> 100% of the lyrics the band is coming up with are my own creations. That's right, I penned their songs myself.
> 
> In case you somehow don't know, Wizards of Waverly Place was a real Disney Channel Show.
> 
> I interviewed a real Police Officer for the car chase scene.
> 
> "NICE LET DOWNLINE" = 605-475-6968. Call it, it's funny.


	7. How You Get the Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may not know this but this is chapter seven, and this is the halfway mark for the story. It's come a long way. I'm actually starting to tear up as I write this; I'm incredibly proud.
> 
> Here are some pro writing tips: Remove all adverbs and -ing verbs. Replace get and got with stronger verbs, and delete very, just, and really.
> 
> Today I'd like to shout-out Angelhunter1901 and BTS Forever Young.
> 
> Angelhunter1901 – Props to this beta reader for taking time off for her mental health – I have to do that too sometimes! It was nice to have someone read this who was in the fandom and who could tell me how my work was compared to the original tv show. I also loved your comments on where to add and how to make my story impactful. Thank you so much for your help!
> 
> BTS Forever Young – Wow! You're such a busy person! Thanks so much for taking the time to read my story. It meant a lot to me how you were willing to review and report, and especially how you were cool about all my various formatting errors. Thank you for taking the time to correct my grammar mistakes and to help make my story better!
> 
> I do not own Grojband or its characters.

November dawns bright and cold. The first term ends, and I hand my report card to my mom. She reprimands me on a few classes, like English grade where I have a 'c', but admits I still have pretty good marks. Rachel sends a copy of her straight-A report card to her father and then folds it up and stores it away for some other time.

Around this same time, Rachel finishes the rough draft stage of her novel. It tops off at 507 pages, which I guess I could come close to if I wrote every second of the rest of my life. She runs off all 500 pages at the school, and for the next few days, she spends every minute in her room with pages spread everywhere. She even measures out four-inch-wide walkways to maneuver her room and lays painter's tape down to help keep her papers organized. Every other available space is paper. One day I walk into the kitchen to see her things spread out on the dining table with her hidden beneath it all.

"What's up?" I ask.

She groans. "I've dissected every sentence in the first five chapters and used every single colored marker and highlighter I have to connect plots and subplots for my characters and themes but I just found a new one and now I'm out of colors. I've also used word to count how many times I've used the words 'and', 'then', and 'she', and 'she' makes up 2.45966% of my entire document, so now I have to find a way to kill as many 'she's as I can until I've overruled that atrocity."

I blink. "Woah. Um, okay. I'll just leave you to it then." I leave as she starts to thump her head against the table and thank my lucky stars I don't have her forte for writing stories because only heaven knows how many times I would use the word 'she'.

I end up the one who goes to talk to Rachel's German teacher, and he agrees that we can borrow Rachel for our report. His agreement causes Rachel to jump on our bandwagon. Our geography teacher is happy to help out. He moves our presentation to last so we can optimize our interview time.

Within the first week of November, I also meet 'The Douche'. He's the same punk kid that started to drool down Rachel's shirt while he tried to convince her to do his homework in study hall. While I walk with Corey and Kin from one of our classes, I spot him at her locker as she grabs a bunch of books. He laughs and jeers at her. She's polite and assertive as always, but this kid doesn't know a 'go to jail' from an 'advance to go' card. Bottom-line, he doesn't understand the hint. I could help, but Rachel's a big girl – she can handle herself. As I walk past, I hear him say "Baby, give me a shot. I can make your body sing."

I hope she made his nether regions scream for that comment.

Rachel and I stick around for lunch on Wednesday. Kin and Kon join us at our table, and it doesn't take long for Corey to show up. Unlike usual though, he plants his hand in front of me and leans down to look at me, not Rachel.

"Laney!' He exclaims. "Your birthday's in three weeks!" I blink, process, and smile.

"Ya Core, I guess it is."

"What do you want?" He asks as he sits down on the bench with one leg under the table and one out in the aisle.

"Oh. I'm happy as I am. I can't think of what I'd want." My cheeks take on a pink tone.

"It's your birthday in three weeks?" Rachel says as she looks up from her edits of chapter five. The last five minutes have been devoted to circling adverbs in chartreuse, which is a real color and not a joke everyone pretends is real. Don't ask me to spell it, because I had to google it to even know what it looks like.

"Yeah, I'll be sixteen." I laugh. "Pretty crazy, huh?"

"Oh my gosh, it's your sweet sixteen!" Rachel explains. She starts to talk fast in German, and then pulls out her phone and starts to text someone. I see my mom's name at the top of the contact before Corey, Kin, and Kon all pull my attention back towards them.

"What do you want Laney?" They ask. They all sound bright and hopeful.

"Um, I'm good. Buy me chocolate or candy." They all deadpan and Kin holds his hands out in exasperation.

"It's okay guys, you can help me," Rachel says. "I think we could try this-" She tilts her phone screen towards them and each of them let out an 'ooh!' I try and look up over the screen, but Rachel tilts it back and gives me a half-glare. "No peeking!" She squeaks.

"That's a great idea Rachel!" Kin says. "Let's do it!"

"We should make a group chat so we can discuss ideas," Kon says and laughs at me as I grow more and more agitated.

"Are you gonna drop a hint on what you've started to plan here?" I ask, annoyed. They all laugh and shake their heads. "Not a chance, no way!"

Someone drops into the seat on my left, and to no one's surprise, it's a male. He smiles over at Rachel, and for once she smiles back at him. I blink in surprise. "Hey Jackson," she says.

"Hey- heya Rachel. I was um, could you please help me again? With ballroom? Sorry to bug you, but Alexandra's not able to dance for a few months. Well, I know you and coach knows you, so I hoped…" He looks like a baby tomato as he trails off. Corey and I meet eyes across the table. The stutter is strong with this one.

"Um, lemme see, when's the concert?" Rachel pulls out her phone and flicks over to her calendar.

"It's on the 13th of December. Sorry, only like a month away." Jackson twiddles his thumbs.

"No problem," Rachel says. "I'm free that day – when are practices?"

"Every other day. The team usually has the first period of every day together but if you can even show up to early morning practices that'd be awesome." Jackson says in a rush, one word after another.

Rachel gives him a thumbs-up. "6:00, right?"

"Yup. Oh, wait…" He trails off and looks over at me. "I forgot, you usually drive your cousin to school. Will that throw a wrench in your travel plans?"

Rachel looks over at me, then thinks. "Laney," She says. "Jackson here is on Precision Ballroom Team, and they have a girl down. If I fill in, I'll have to leave the house earlier. I can drive you if you want or you can take the bus. Are you okay with this?"

I wave her off "I can wake up in time. I'll hang out at school until classes start."

Jackson looks relieved. "Okay, thanks again, Rachel." He sighs. He smiles and walks off with a look like a weight is gone from his shoulders.

"You dance?" Corey asks. He has a dumb-struck look on his face as he looks at Rachel like… like she's his whole world.

"Yeah." She says as she looks up to meet his eyes, and then jumps back when she sees how he looks at her. "I – I – I um, I learned in Europe." Then she looks down at her papers and away from him; a silent refusal to meet his gaze again.

Kin leans over a little and looks at the glazed look in Corey's eyes. Then, he looks over at Rachel. His phone slips into his hand, and he starts to type away. A moment later my phone buzzes and a notification with Kin's name appears.

'Rachel doesn't like-like Corey, does she?'

I consider how I should respond, then I decide on the truth. 'No, she doesn't. He won't take a hint.' The bitterness in my soul comes through in that last phrase.

Kin examines my text on his phone, looks up and meets my eyes. He shifts back and forth between Corey and me for a few seconds before his eyes widen and he starts to type again.

'Oh! YOU like Corey?'

My cheeks burst into flame and I glare daggers across the table at Kin, whose eyes grow larger by the second. Kon notices, but Rachel's eyes stay on the ground and Corey is too enamored for him to notice. My phone buzzes and the second message from Kin reads: 'Ouch. That sucks."

Tears burn my eyes and my throat threatens to squeeze itself into oblivion. I shove my food in the general direction of Kon and hit Corey's arm instead. "Ouch!" He yelps and curses a little under his breath. I grab my backpack and run for the doors as my face grows wet. I hear his voice as it echoes: "What'd I miss? What happened?"

I turn the corner to the bathrooms and lock myself in a stall. There, I cry so hard my nose starts to bleed. Ten minutes go by. I sit in the bathroom for about ten minutes as I wail and toss bloody toilet paper into the toilet. It's an awful mess. The bell rings as a dangerous headache starts. Since I can't remember if I have English before Geography or if I go straight to Psychology with Rachel I stay put. My nose starts to stain my clothes, and copper and salt mingle in my mouth to form a bitter taste. My cries grow hoarse.

I almost don't hear when someone knocks on my stall door. I think my ears have fooled me. Then they tap the metal again.

"Hey, hey. Dollface, cuddle bug? Can you hear me?" Someone with a heavy French accent calls.

"Uh, um, yeah I can hear you."

"Listen, Juliet, what's up in there? You Sick? In your time?"

"What?"

"Is it shark week? Do you need a Tampax?"

"Oh, um no. I- My nose has run amuck."

"Can you open the door?"

I reach up and slide the lock, and see – the girl on the other side of the door – opens it. She helps me to my feet and guides me over to the sinks.

"Ah, God, you poor girl. Like you've become the bloody Niagara Falls." She pulls my face towards her so she can dab at my nose, and I focus on a silver lip ring.

The girl with my chin in her hands is gothic, with dark hair and drawn-on eyebrows. She has pretty features, pale blue eyes, a slender chin. They're all overshadowed by a layer of extra-pale foundation and a half-shaved hairstyle. No less than ten earrings dangle from her ears, and her eyebrows have two piercings each.

"You know what you remind me of?" She says. She slants her voice on odd parts of her speech.

"Someone on a surgeon table?" I ask.

"Well, that too, but you also remind me of my love bug. Gal by the name of Cleo. I call her my Cleopatra sugar-shins."

"What does that mean?"

"Ancient Cleopatra used to use a sugar wax to rip her leg hair off, but now my gal's Cleopatra sugar-shins." She mops the rest of my face off and hands me a wad of tissue to stuff up my nose. "Need an aspirin Cuddle-bug?"

"Yes please." I cry. I clutch my head for a second as she bends down to fish in a backpack under the sink. She comes back up with two white pills and a water bottle, which she shakes before she hands them both over.

"Anywho, my sugar-shins looked like you about three weeks back. She'd gotten in bad with this no-no kid – he wouldn't take no for an answer and it was rainin' and she wanted to make it home. When he drove by her and stopped, she took him up on his offer of a ride home." The gothic girl shakes her head as she runs paper towels under my eyes to remove my mascara. The majority of my makeup is gone.

"What happened to her?" I ask as my head throbs stop long enough to pop the aspirin into my mouth and take a few drinks of water.

She shakes her head in sympathy. "Well, the law wouldn't call it a felony but everyone I know would scream assault. She bled from the mouth for an hour and still cries now. I was the one who touched up the bruises on her face."

'Oh. That's awful." I can't believe I cried for half an hour in here about a boy. First world problems; what a slap in the face.

"Yeah, poor sugar wants to find the perfect guy. I don't understand her since I play the other team." She jams a thumb at herself.

"Oh, well, I guess I see where she comes from." I murmur, though I don't. Who would try that many times for love?

"Yeah, it ain't the first time someone's hammered on poor Cleo. Heck, it ain't the first time for me. Firs' time a boy became too clingy on me, he hauled me by my hair behind the bathrooms at the HC FB game." My throat clenches.

She hauls her backpack up onto the sink. Out of a small side, pocket comes some mascara and eyeliner. She unscrews the mascara and holds it to my face.

"And… blink!" She says. I do, and she reapplies the mascara to both my eyes before she reveals the label. "Wataproof! In case you need to leav'n have another cry. An' it's brand new… you can keep it! Put it in your locka or your bag and carry it around in case. An d'ya like your eyeliner thick or no?"

"Um… I can do it." My voice shakes. She nods and hands the tube over to me before she tucks the mascara into my back pocket. I uncap the lid and turn to the mirror. "I – uh – never heard your name?"

"I'm Antoinette. you can call me Butterscotch. Or Fruitloop. I'll be yo fruit loop and you can be my Cuddle-bug." What odd nicknames. I smile a little.

I run the eyeliner over my eyes. "Thank you," I say as I try to hand it back.

"Ah-nah girl! That's gross! You keep it. My Aunt works with a makeup company, so she gives me free stuff all the time. I'll ask for new ones to hand out."

"Do you… Do this a lot?"

"Oh, all the time Cuddle-bug, girls have rough days. Now listen, I'm gonna walk in front of you down to Drama. It's down the hall. Ms. Devendra keeps a stash of clothes behind her desk for peeps in emergencies. We'll sneak you in by the costume rooms and grab some clothes for you. I know the kitchen teacher and I'll take care of your clothes. You pick them up before school's out and leave drama clothes behind for the next unfortunate soul. Sound good?"

"There's… a system for all this?"

"Yeah, hun. I was run through in my freshman year, and they introduced me."

"Oh, wow, thank you so much. That sounds great." When you consider my shirt is crusted over and my cheeks feel like someone sandpapered them, it sounds beyond great. Antoinette heaves her backpack over her shoulder and retrieves mine from where I hid. The metal glints from her lip. "After you," I say.

She walks out, and I follow behind, still subconscious about my looks. The hall is empty except for a few jocks at the end who are busy as they play a game of catch with an item I can't see. Antoinette leads me down the halls before we both slip down the drama hall and into an empty room that attaches to backstage. She leaves me alone and comes back a few minutes later with a large cardboard box behind her. She lets me raffle through it, and I find a white shirt with black letters that spell out 'BAND KID'. It hangs like a boy's shirt and smells like vanilla candles.

Antoinette takes the box back and walks me to the kitchen class, where a washing machine hides in the corner.

"Juliet, you never told me what worked you up. Wanna talk about it Cuddle-bug?" Antoinette asks as she swings a plastic sack with my bloody clothes in it back and forth.

"Oh." I sigh. "It-It's dumb. I mean, you talked about your friend Cleopatra, and… I haven't gone through stuff like that."

"Ah Juliet, we don't put numbers on suffering. Didn't Jesus work through all suffering? Some of us have guy problems, some of us have girl problems, and all us have problems. It ain't right to go around and tell other people why your hurts are worse than theirs."

I shrug. "I guess, but mine is kind of dumb. I guess I've held it in for a while and it came out today."

Antoinette nods. "That happens, honey. You gotta let it out when needed."

"Yeah, you're right. Anyway, my problem's dumb. I'm – in love with this boy."

Antoinette shoots me a sympathetic look. "Ah, you poor doll face. Did cupid stake your heart up on a pole? He does that."

"Yeah, he has. He's my best friend, and I always hoped I'd have a chance, but he's fallen in love with someone else."

"So, you're on the edge of oblivion before you're tossed into the abyss?"

"Yeah, that's it." I scuff my toes. "And it sucks because everyone loves her. Or, at least they lust after her. And she's my cousin, so it's kind of like a knife wound; over and over."

"You're Laney Penn, right? Then your cousin's Rachel Barabossi?"

"Yeah," I say. "One of my friends found out, and he'll tell his brother. Everything will spiral out of control and my head isn't prepared for that. On top of that, everyone gives Rachel crap, and won't let up. I read this one butthead's texts about what a fine butt she has and how he'd like to see what she has to hide. He even told her he knows where she lives."

Antoinette only nods. "People can be pigs, entitled to what others have. Don't you go blame yourself though. There's not much else you can do. You gotta keep moving forward."

"You could be an inspirational wall hanger."

"I would rock that form. Imagine me! I'd be the prettiest wallflower that ever was." She winks at me. "And whenever a jerk walked by I'd drop off my hook and try my hardest to knock him out." Then she pats my shoulder. "Sit tight sunflower. I'm sure things will turn out sunny in the end."

She holds the door open to the kitchen room like Rachel does, and then we sneak around to the back of the room. Antoinette waves a little at the teacher, and then she ignores us both. There is a system for people on bad days. My heart lifts a little.

After she drops off my clothes Antoinette hands me my backpack, kisses both of my cheeks, and hugs me. "Shine bright, Cuddle-bug. Don't let anyone dull your sparkle."

She walks off towards the direction of the Drama hall, and I pull out my phone so I can look up what class I'm supposed to be in. Geography day, of course. Since I had combined lunch with Rachel, I now have English before I go to Geography with the guys. I examine my phone screen as I hoist my backpack up on my shoulder and head to English. The screen freezes as I enter the English hall, and then updates. There's a notification that my attendance updated. I hit the link that generates my report and see that my English attendance for today has changed from sluff to 'P'. I glance down at the Attendance Codes key to see what 'P' means and see it next to the word 'Personal'.

My heart warms up and I have to clear my throat because the pinch that happens before you start to cry has started. Someone cleared my absence.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the last few minutes of English, I read through a list of messages. Corey, Rachel, Kin, and Kon have all sent me messages.

Corey: Hey Laney, Why'd you leave? You ok?

Kin: I was right, wasn't I?

Kin: You okay?

Kon: Where'd you go?

Rachel: Hey Laney, what's wrong? Can I help with anything?

I text back to Rachel and say: "Sorry I left. I'm fine now." I send a sticker for extra-happiness effect. She doesn't read the message, but that's because she's stuck in Ballroom Dance, where she has no phone.

Someone nudges my chair. I glance over my shoulder and catch the brown eyes of a Junior who has to retake English 10. He's not very tall, a little bit on the chubbier side, and he has a pleasant, round, childish face. He's latino, and I know him vaguely because he like to crack bad jokes and puns in class. "Hey," He says in a cheery tone with a cute smile. "I'm Bryson. Aren't you Laney? The super-awesome chick from Grojband?"

"Yeah, I am." I smile a little at him. "Are you a fan?"

"Oh, for sure. I loved that song you guys played at the start of the New Year. I have it saved on my computer at home."

"Oh, how nice." I smile a little. It's always nice to meet someone who respects what we do and appreciates us for it. You could say we don't receive a ton of recognition at our school, but everyone is aware of our existence. We're requested to play a lot of gigs. My phone buzzes, but the junior kid scoots his chair toward me a little. I forget my phone.

"So, Laney," He says. "What do you like to do for fun?"

I feel a little playful as I raise an eyebrow. "Umm, play music? Duh?"

"That's way cool though. You've got such a great talent."

My heart fills up a little bit, and I smile brighter. "Thanks. How about you?"

He shrugs. "Well, I breakdance, and I like to go snowmobile and ski. Also, pretty big into punk rock music."

"Breakdance? Wow, that's unique."

"Yeah, I go with my friends to this club outside of town and we do dance competitions. I could take you some time?" Bryson wrings his hands, and his eyes flick to the corner of the desk for a moment before they return to me.

"Yeah, that'd be so cool!" I'd have to ask my mom and see if my friends want to come with, and then-

"Sweet! It's a date then!" His eyes light up and he stares at me with this expression of pure, childish joy. I stare back, dumbfounded. A date? What did I agree to?

"Oh, um, yeah, sounds great!" I say with false cheer.

"Can I have your number?" He asks.

I rattle it off as I stare shell-shocked at him. I can't believe I got asked out. He smiles back, and when the bell rings I'm still stunned at what happened. He leaves, and I grab my stuff and hurry to my next class so I can think. I walk in the door to Geography before I remember why I can't think here. Corey glances up every time someone enters the classroom, and he spots me as soon as I walk in. Then he's out of his seat and over to me with the same childish energy that I've always adored.

"Laney!" He says. "What happened? Where'd you go, are you okay?" We've blocked the doorway, kids begin to skirt around us. Kin and Kon squeeze past and head to their seats. They don't spare us a glance. I swallow.

"Oh yeah, Core. There wasn't any problem. " I smile and watch his expression. Oh god, he's tall. Tall and handsome. His eyes flick up and down my frame, not in the creepy way guys eye Rachel, but in a concerned way. For a moment, I am glad I am not Rachel, but then I remember that Rachel happens to be the girl Corey is in love with.

"Your shirt's different." He says as he eyes the 'BAND KID' letters. "What happened?" He notices we've blocked the flow of the door so he puts his hand on my back to lead me toward our table. Oh goodness, is this what heaven feels like? I better go back to English and tell my teacher that yes, I can define ecstasy.

"Oh, yeah, I um…" The memory of Antoinette seems fragile, and I don't want to share it yet. Also, he can't know I had a bloody nose.

Too late, Kin leans over and examines me too. "Is that blood under your chin?" He asks with a scowl. Corey jumps forward and yanks my chin up. Oh crap. How long have I had blood there? Did my teacher see it? Oh crap, what about Bryson? Did he try and ask me out while I had blood under my chin?

"I, um…" I trail off under the combined stares of my three amigos. "Yeah, I got a bloody nose." I focus on Corey's nose. "That's why I had to leave so fast."

Kin nods. "That explains why you have one of the backup drama shirts."

Kon nods alongside him, in sync. "For emergencies only." He nods.

"Wait," I sputter. "You know about that?"

Kin flushes. "Yeah, it's kind of a universal underground system here. Did you not know?" I shake my head.

Kin shrugs. "Oh, yeah, well, lots of girls use it when they're having… emergencies." His face turns a deeper red. "But when I had the stomach flu last year someone tipped me off about it. I mean – I had a test, and didn't want to go home yet, so…" His chin ducks down to his chest. "Since then I've kind of helped tip other people off about it, so…"

Corey looks plain confused. "What's this?"

"It's an emergency system for kids who need clothes for whatever reason. Tons of homeless kids filter through, pick up clothes, and have theirs washed overnight." Kon says, which is the smartest, most complex phrase he's ever said. I look down at my shirt and wonder how many other kids have worn it. Corey looks impressed.

"Wow. It's way cool they have that. Props."

A shadow falls across the table, and we glance up to see the Geography teacher as he looks around his nose at us. "You kids working?"

Silence.

Corey snaps to attention. "Yep! Germany, right! We've started to talk about who's on the PowerPoint and what should be in it. We've thought a flag, a map, a – uh." He trails off and glances sideways at me for help.

"And an interview," I say. "We ran that past you right? My cousin lived in Germany, and we scheduled to call her in so that everyone could ask her questions? She has German this hour, and we've already passed it by the teacher-" I start to babble, afraid he's forgotten.

"I'm aware of Ms. Barabossi's planned appearance." He sighs and pinches his nose. "Please stay on task." He wanders off to another delinquent table with one last look.

Corey leans against the desk, a ditzy smile on his face. "So, you did clarify it then? She will come?" My stomach turns.

"Yeah. Her teacher said it would a great opportunity." I swallow. I open up my phone. "Let's divide up tasks and then come back together. Who wants to handle our PowerPoint? Kin? Kon?" I look up over the edge of my screen even though I know they will want that job. Kin gives me a thumbs up, but Kon's on his phone and won't look up at me.

"Okay, And Corey, how about you handle the essay, and I'll talk with Rachel about the interview? Collect some start-up questions from the internet and plan out how that'll be set up?" I glance up and see Corey pull the single most disgusted face I've ever seen.

"Umm, essay?" He creaks out. I wince in sympathy. "Sorry Core, someone's gotta do the essay, and since I live with Rachel it's easier to-"

"I can come over to your house and talk with Rachel." He spits out. "You know I'm crap at words anyway. I can do the interview easy-peasy. You and I always arrange events! I can handle it!" His eyes grow big and round as he starts to beg.

"Core, you know that I have about the same level of English know-how as you do. Remember my English grade? There's a reason we steal most of our lyrics from Trina!" I hiss the last words as he winces. My heart aches.

"But Laney! You and Rachel have worked on lyrics! And they're good!"

"Yeah." I roll my eyes, arms crossed. "That's cause of Rachel's help with them. She knows English and German like the back of her hand."

"Well, then the essay should be no problem for you! 'Cause you can ask Rachel to proofread or you can use the internet or…." His thought train falls off its tracks as he grasps for straws. I'm no better.

"Rachel's busy Corey. She's part of our presentation, she's penned some of the lyrics for our song, she's got to keep up school and her novel." Oh gosh. Rachel is busy.

"And Ballroom." Kin chimes in. "Remember?"

Corey too winces, and I see him steel himself for his last fight. I prepare myself too, to be firm, to do what is best for this project, and for our group.

Corey sticks his bottom lip out and stares into my eyes. "Please Laney?" He begs. I am gone before I even try to stop myself.

Luckily, Kin stops me before I can open my mouth.

"You can collaborate together." He says. "Kon and I will handle PowerPoint together. You and Corey can handle interview and essay together."

Corey and I look at each other as we both think. Then he brightens up and nods, and I nod too. I hold Kin's glance for a few seconds though because it's obvious what he did.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Rachel seems to be gone a lot. That seems ridiculous. She still takes me to and from school, helps my mom, and is never further than a call away, but it feels like she's gone. When I see her nowadays, she's always hidden by papers, a bag of colored pens, and millions of sticky notes. I can never tell if it's all for homework, song lyrics, or her novel.

My morning routine changes. On Thursday I wake up to her gentle knocks and whispers. She's always quiet so my parents can sleep in that extra hour before Peaceville starts to move. I tiptoe out of my room, ready myself for the day, and even make my bed before I help Rachel carry her school things down into the car. I don't do that usually. The city's asleep when we make it to school, and I sit out in the hall by the dance room as music plays over and over.

Rachel works a lot with our song. The lyrics have details and amaze me every time I hear them. She takes into account every beat, every syllable, every pause. "It took years to learn to love myself, while I learned to be someone else." "Twisting and you started kissing." "I was clutching my bangs thinking I'd lost my mind." "My trials and their recompense customize my confidence."

As I scribble notes onto a blank music sheet, a text comes through. An unknown number has sent me a text, which reads: "Hey Laney, this is Bryson. Are we still on for breakdancing?"

I text back: "Yep. Give me a time and location." As I set my phone down, I hear a familiar voice echo down the hall. I lean out and get my nose taken away as Kon trips and falls on his face in front of me.

"Ooh!" He groans. His eyes focus on me. "Hey! Laney! There you are! Guys, I found her!" He attempts to call over his shoulder. Pause as he pries his face off of the floor, and then Kin pokes his head around the corner.

"Oh, hey Laney. We thought you'd be over by the locker rooms." He says. He sits down next to me, and then Corey walks out. My heart warms up a little as he sits down next to me.

"Hey, guys," I say. A little tickle starts to form at the back of my throat. "Why are you here?"

Corey lets out a loud whoop of a yawn. I cover my mouth to hide my own. "Rachel mentioned practices are early, and you said you'd tag along. We decided to come and give you coffee." He groans while he rubs his eyes. A white and brown paper cup sits between his knees. I grab it and take a sip. Kin picks up the sheet paper from my lap.

"Is this the new song?" He asks as he examines the notes. "It looks good. Listen to this, you guys." He reads off some of the notes in a long line of letters and sharps. Then the lyrics, examined and pieced by Rachel and me.

There's a moment of silence in respect for the verses, and then Kon says: "We should go down to the music room and give it a demo."

Kin laughs. "I mean, it's not like we're busy here." He reaches across me and pokes Corey's shoulder. Corey jerks back awake and stares at Kin.

"Corey, we're headed to the music room."

"What for?" He asks as confusion laces his tone.

"To try out the lyrics, silly. Let's go!" I stand up and yank him up with me. Kin handles the sheet with care, and I clasp my coffee cup with an iron grasp.

The school is weird when no one else is there. Like when you're next to Rachel under thousands of stares. Kon sings as he walks, and Corey joins in for a few tired notes before he closes his eyes and lets me lead him on.

The music room is already occupied – a girl with thick hair shaven on one side. She wears lurid orange and purple and faces away from us as she plays a trumpet with her eyes closed. A wolf tail dangles from her hip – a real live wolf tail. As we open the door she turns to face us and I see that the girl… is Antoinette.

"Juliet!" She yells. "Well, if it ain't my cuddle-bug!" Her eyes flicker over Corey, Kin, and Kon with obvious fear in her eyes.

Her voice jerks Corey back to attention. He takes in the sight of Antionette with a tone of disbelief, and then his mouth drops closer to my ear. "Do you know her?" He asks.

"Antionette! Froot Loop!" I correct myself. "Why're you here?"

Antionette comes up to me and gives me a quick hug, but she dances out of arm's length of the boys. I move away from them, so she can be more comfortable and let go of Corey as I do. Her hair moves without her, and a duckling appears, nestled in her locks.

"Why do you have a duck in your hair?" Kon yells from the door. Antoinette winces at the loud sound.

"He's my new service animal. I'm tryna make him imprint on me." She takes the duckling out of her hair. It sits in her palm and fluffs it's feathers up, all yellow and soft. It lets out a little quack. I see a tag wrapped around its leg which identifies him as a legitimate service animal. She must be diagnosed with a disorder or disease.

"That's cool!" Kon says. He tries to move forward, but Kin anticipates him and blocks his path with an arm and a shake of the head.

"Er, um, is this Grojband?" Antionette asks as she strokes the duck with her thumbs. Like an anxiety tool. It must be a mental disorder. Maybe PTSD or severe anxiety. I nod and point to each of the boys.

"Corey, Kin, and Kon." They wave. Antionette smiles in a stiff tone.

"We, um, we wanted to work on a song. Do you want to hang out and give us feedback? It's okay if not!" I shift my balance from foot to foot and laugh. She shrugs.

"Sure, let's hear it." She moves back, and the boys move past her, over to the lockers where we keep our instruments in school. There's about a five-minute set-up which I take part in, and then we face her. Corey looks down on the lyrics for the first time, and he's amazed.

"Wow," he breathes. "These are brilliant." He studies the sheet and plays the first few notes a few times to become used to the feel of the song. It's slower, but it's got jazz to it. Kin too runs through a few bars while I untangle the rest of the cords for my guitar and Kon arranges his drums.

When we're all ready, Corey raises his pick and counts down. Then he starts to play.

The music carries us away. As we stand under the window, we can see the dawn. Antoinette stares at us as we rip up a ballad of key changes, guitar riffs, and beautiful lyrics.

"You pulled me down under, skin to skin." Corey sings. His hair falls under his chin as he bites his lip and turns his head towards his guitar. Steel concentration.

The song, beautiful as it is, is incomplete. We drop off at some point between what will become the chorus and the second verse. Antoinette claps with gusto. "Bravo!" She calls. "That sounded wonderful!"

Corey grins and bows a little. "All thanks to Laney and her talented cousin for their awesome lyrics." I laugh and tilt my head back. Antionette laughs too.

We switch off our instruments and spread out our arsenal of notes. The boys all produce sticky notes with words that rhyme and small phrases. I imagine I'm Rachel as I examine each syllable and fit it into the puzzle of our song. Antoinette admits she doesn't know how to make words click into lyrics. She brings her duck and sits by us as we work. The boys make a silent agreement and keep a good distance away. I'm grateful that they respect her so much.

Mom would probably say it's because they grew up around me. Our band's been around for a long time, and I was a beast in my middle school years. I probably taught them a lot about how to respect girls even if I didn't mean to.

I sit on the concrete floor and try to make sense of hundreds of fragments. In a mess of pink and blue sits my phone with a notepad open on it. I reach over every so often and scribble notes down.

"Here's a good part Laney!" Corey says. "Blue, brown, green, you; I fell from your eyes through."

He brings the slip of paper over to me as I puzzle out if it's better to use the word wail or prevail. "Thanks, Core," I say as I take the note and try to find it a place among all the others. We'll have to rearrange the flow of it to match the beat count. My phone buzzes.

"Core, could you check who that was? If it's Rachel we may need to pack up." I murmur as I sift through papers. Two fall into place, and I pick them up and stare at them. Golden. These two are perfect. I hear the scrape of Corey's nails on the concrete as he picks up my phone and then he asks: "Who's Bryson?"

My head shoots up, and I'm faced with the image of a confused Corey. He hands my phone over without a word. On the screen is Bryson and I's conversation. His latest message reads: "Great! How about next Friday? I can pick you up around 6 and have you back home by 11?"

I swallow. Oh god, this is not how I wanted them to find out. Corey shifts his weight. "Are you two together then?"

Kin, Kon, and Antionette all share a simultaneous glance over at me. My tongue swells up and I can't breathe, let alone speak.

"Um," I gasp. "He wanted to show me this club where he likes to go breakdance."

Corey nods, and smiles. "I'm happy for you Lanes." He says. It feels like a sucker punch to the gut. My phone buzzes in my hand, and he leans over to see. "Ah, there's Rachel." He says. "Let's go see her." He starts to collect papers. I start to collect scraps, but I feel numb. The room is almost clean when I realize I let the two golden scraps of words slip into the pile. Pearls before swine, gold lost among handfuls.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After we meet at my house on Thursday for two weeks, Corey and I finish our essay. We turn it in ahead of time and start to plan out how things would pan out with Kin and Kon. On the day of our presentation, we sit at our desks with a small stack of cards in our hands. We clap and take notes on everyone else's presentations before the teacher motions for us to walk to the front of the room. Kin palms his flash drive to the teacher, and the fuzzy picture of the German flag appears on the screen.

"Germany" Kin announces. "82 million inhabitants, 16 constituent states, 357,021 square miles." He goes on and gives plenty of information about the regions, climate culture. Corey takes over to expand on some points and make some new ones. Kon covers the music page, which features a statistic of how many albums Grojband has sold in Germany. We move much quicker through our power point than anyone else. With a solid fifteen minutes left in class, attention turns to me, since I haven't talked yet. Kin changes the slide, and the words 'Interview Time' appear on the screen.

"We'd like to introduce Rachel Barabossi, who lived in Germany, and has a deep love of the country and it's language. You're allowed to raise your hands and ask her questions." I shift under the stares of all my classmates. In the back of the room, Rachel stands up. She weaves through all the desks and sets a hand on my shoulder as she stands up. I smile up at her and move to stand off to the side of the stage to ask questions if things start to slow. The boys take a seat.

"My name is Rachel Barabossi. I hold dual-citizenship for Canada, my home country of the United States, and Germany. I lived there from the time I was 12 up until three months ago." Rachel holds herself stiff, firm. Her hands in front, shoulders back, and head held high. She demands their respect.

Someone raises their hand. "Do you have an accent when you speak German?" They ask. Rachel smiles and begins to answer.

I never have to ask any questions. I stand off to the side while Rachel laughs and answers questions with gusto, flourish, and grace. She speaks German fast and loud and explains what it's like to live over there. She tells all about wonders such as Neuschwanstein Castle and the Reichstag building.

"My favorite part of Berlin is a neighborhood known as Dorotheenstadt. It's got the Brandenburg Gate and a Holocaust memorial at the end of the street. There's also a college right smack-down in the middle of it. The college has one of the largest libraries in the world. Ten different museums surround it, one of them the Pergamon museum. The Berlin Concert house, Checkpoint Charlie, and the Berlin Cathedral are also in that area." She says. She pulls a map out of her backpack and passes it around for everyone to see the areas she describes. Even the teacher leans forward to listen to her.

Rachel is good with people. She likes to talk and dance and socialize. But she doesn't like people who rubberneck her. That's a new word she taught me when she took me out to drive a few days ago. It's when you watch an accident when you drive instead of the road. In Rachel's case, everyone watches and waits for the accident to happen. Taylor Swift called it yet again. 'Everybody's waiting for you to break down, everybody's watching to see the fallout.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs:
> 
> The percentage I came up with for the word 'she' is actually the percentage of the word 'she' in this story upon me finishing it (Due to severe editing this may not be the percentage now.)
> 
> Antoinette is basically three or four of my BFF's all rolled into a tribute. She and her friend Cleo make up an increasingly large percentile of our youth who are battling mental illnesses and psychological disorders. Antoinette is also the very first bisexual person I've ever attempted. No, it's not because I'm straight. I'm actually asexual. Anyone, two of these friends I'm talking about are bisexual, so I decided to flare that characteristic in her. Also, I'm told that the French part of Canada is mean… so I decided to make Antoinette overly nice and supportive. Viola. She kind of has her own twang and marches to her own beat. She's one of my favorite OC's ever.
> 
> Antoinette threw in an Ancient Egyptian fact, in case you missed it.
> 
> We all carried aspirin at school to help people out.
> 
> My school had a system about half as good as this one, and mainly for homeless kids. They'd wash their clothes and feed them breakfast and lunch but that was it. I like this idea because it's a little bit broader, and even though it's not featured in the story there's more to this support system.
> 
> "Don't let anyone dull your sparkle" comes from a Tumblr post I saw.
> 
> The Duck idea comes from my crazy wonderful Biology teacher, who hatches ducks for her AP Bio class. Also, I know a girl who helps train service animals at school, so this is also a dedication to her.
> 
> Pearls before swine is a bible reference
> 
> I know all the places in Berlin by heart.
> 
> Hope you all caught that very obvious Taylor Swift lyric. Y'know, since I labeled it and everything. It's from the Hunger Games album and it's called Eyes Open.


	8. Penny Lane in the Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter eight.
> 
> I'd like to give shoutouts to two more of my beta readers, ElysiaWaterchild and Freelance360.
> 
> ElysiaWaterchild – It was so great to have an actual Canadian helping me out here. If you've taken a quick glance at my profile page, you can probably tell I'm not from Canada... Also, you were super, super great with all the grammar checking you gave me. I do use like, three different websites but nothing beats having someone look through and make it all work. Thank you so much for your help!
> 
> Freelance360 – Every time I read your name I think of a medieval joust match... it's top notch. One of the things I LOVED that you did was you sent everything into a PM to me... it was super cool for me to just be able to glance and know exactly where I need to make changes. And every single time you gave me feedback on the backbone of my story, I knew you knew your crap. It was a pleasure to work with you. Thank you so much.
> 
> I do not own Grojband.

Rachel dances around her room. She keeps within the spaces she outlined for walkway use and steers clear of papers. I sit on a spin-chair at her dresser, dressed in black leggings and a band shirt. She takes a pair of black combat boots out of her closet and teeters back through the minefield to hand them to me. "Try those on." She tells me. I undo the laces and slip them on over my sock feet as she fusses around in her drawers. She returns with an eyeshadow palette filled with pretty colors, one of which is a gold. She paints this one on over my eyes and lets me see my reflection in the mirror attached to the underside of the case.

"Killer," I comment as I admire the color.

"You're gonna slay tonight Laney." She smiles. Her phone buzzes from its place on the bedside table over and over. She doesn't spare it a glance, but I do.

"You ought to block him," I whisper as I watch the vibrations carry her phone nearer to the end of the bed. Rachel blinks at my words and looks a little horrified, but then she calms down a little. I look away. "Sorry." I murmur. "He's such a… butt to you."

She nods. "Most guys are." She sighs. "I did block him actually, but he's started to text through his friends. It hasn't been him though; it's been, Corey." Her phone buzzes and falls off the side table onto the ground, like a disabled bird. She winces. "He's, uh, persistent."

I close my eyes. "I'm sorry. Bryson and I's date only helped feed this mess." She tilts my chin up.

"Don't feel bad." She professes. "I'm sure it'll all work out. Go out tonight, have fun, and if he asks you out again say that you had a great time but you'd prefer to stay friends." I nod and try to smile. Rachel phone buzzes against the carpet, and she sighs and goes to pick it up.

"Oh." She groans. "It's Jackson with Precision Ballroom. Course, there's lots of Corey's texts mixed up here, but…" She shakes her head and shuts her phone off. I slide off the chair and do my best to not step on any of her papers as I walk across the room.

"How many more edits do you have to make?" I ask when I reach the door.

"I'm about a fourth of the way done. I haven't even started on page 250 yet."

"Ouch. Still, impressive. When do you think you'll finish?"

"My goal is before February." She says as she closes the door behind her. She follows me down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mom's bright red hair is up behind her ears. She looks busy as she pats large slabs of dough into a large sheet for cinnamon rolls.

"Hi girls!" She smiles as we walk in. "Laney, you look lovely!"

"Thanks, mom." I laugh. I scoop a finger full of the cinnamon-sugar spread from a bowl on the counter. She wags a finger at me and puts a dab of flour on Rachel's nose. We all laugh, a high bubbly sound, and then the doorbell rings in the midst of that. I take a breath. Rachel smiles at me. She and Mom follow me to the door in a symphony of heel clicks. I open the door and Bryson stands behind it.

Bryson introduces himself and gives mom the address where we're headed and his phone number. Rachel takes a few photos for us, and then he helps me out the door to where a couple of his friends wait. Loud music spews out of the doors, and stacks of half-empty packs of soda in the middle seats come into view. He's reserved shotgun for me, and orders one of the chicks in the backseat to pass up a soda.

For an hour, we scream along to songs and down sodas. I join in all the chug battles I can and become car DJ when I prove my music skill superior to everyone else's. One of the girls dumps a soda on herself, and everyone laughs as she dabs at the stain that has formed.

As we come upon the town, everyone starts to scream and point at a cinder-block sign. It reads: 'Welcome to Westlock." As we pass it, everyone in the back shouts "Rubicon!" One person shrieks: "I got it!"

As they laugh, Bryson leans over from the driver's seat. "It's a tradition. Rubicon means the point of no return. First person to yell 'Rubicon' after we pass it receives a point." I nod, and an idea materializes in my head. I turn around.

"Hey!" I yell. Anyone of you guys got a napkin? And a pen?"

"You spill too?" One guy nudges the girl with a partially-soaked shirt as he smirks at me.

"She said a pen too, you idiot." The girl responds with an eye roll. She procures a ballpoint from her purse as someone passes up a napkin from the back. Everyone in the backseat crowds around my shoulder to see what I'm scribbling. The pen takes time for the ink to start to flow, but then I scribble: We've crossed the Rubicon, you're no longer my someone.

'Wow." Bryson says with his eyes raised. "You don't show that talent in English class." I shake my head.

"Reserved for Music Theory and Advanced Guitar." I chide as I tease him. "English is a waste of energy anyway."

Bryson scoffs. "You tell me. I can write an essay just fine, but I got held back because I didn't read The Odyssey."

"You coulda looked it up on Wikipedia." I laugh. He shrugs and looks embarrassed.

"Yeah, I guess I could have." He takes his hand off the wheel to rub the back of his neck as all his friends laugh. We pull up to a heavily-graffitied building, covered by the number of trees that have grown in front of it. Everyone piles out, and one of the guys in the backseat comes around to open up my door and help me out. I jam my ankles when I hit the broken concrete too hard. He and Bryson throw their arms over my shoulders, and we form an arm chain of about twelve people up to the door.

"Real quick, you should know that the bar and the drunks are contained to the left side. Dancers slash people who despise alcohol to the right." Bryson calls in my ear.

The guy who opened my door leans over and shouts: "And plug your ears as you walk in!" Someone splits off of the chain and opens the door. Sound thumps out. Everyone disconnects so they can clap their hands over their ears. We rush into a hallway where several proverbial miles of beads and silly string hang from the ceiling. The sound is loud. It seems to echo off of itself. When I reach the end of the hallway I see it opens up to a very large concrete room. Smoke machines and damaged speakers are everywhere, with wires taped to the floor. Everyone around us sings along to the music, but I can't pick out the words. How embarrassed would I be if it were one of my songs?

I can't even hear the music. I turn around to watch the others split into smaller groups and mingle with other people. Bryson and his buddy lead me along to another group, where they clap shoulders and laugh. I still can't even remove my hands from my ears. One of the girls from the car comes over and pulls my palms from my lobes. The sound only increases. I didn't know sound could even be this loud.

As promised, the entirety of the bar contains itself to one side of the room. On the other side is a very large dance floor and a soda stand, both of which hide behind the number of dancers. When I turn back around, Bryson's removed his t-shirt to reveal a black exercise shirt. He stuffs it into a bag held by one of his friends and smiles at me before he backs up and enters the dance floor.

Goodness, that child can dance. I watch as the crowd cheers him on, laugh as he spins around from his hands to his back, to his neck. He's expressive with the music and free with his movement.

Someone hands me an unopened soda and another person joins Bryson on the dance floor. I start to scream with the crowd and cheer until I'm hoarse. Neon lights and black tape seem professional enough, wild enough. The music isn't loud enough, because I can still hear my screams.

Bryson takes a break long enough to wave me onto the floor and someone pushes me toward him. I put my soda, still unopened, on the ground. He reaches out so I take his hand and he yanks me forward with a flourish. I end up about three feet from his side. He releases my hand and takes a stance – knees bent, sort of hunched over. He waits, and I realize I'm supposed to mimic him. I do, and he starts to move his arms in a cool but simple pattern. He starts to change his pose and adds in more moves for me to follow. Thus begins the start of my breakdance career.

Someone more experienced switches me out as I start to sweat. A dance-off forms in my wake. Bryson and a girl from our car face off against what appears to be her best friend, who also came with us, and a boy I don't recognize. I swear they rip pebbles straight out of the concrete with the force they dance with. I can't describe most of the most they do since every move they make happens so fast. Angled arms and elbows, bent postures and spines coiled like springs. It's really awesome.

Bryson loses, and then he teaches me some more. I'm clearly miles behind him though, and this is his forte. When someone steals him away for another house competition, I feel like there's a gap between us that'll never be crossed. I'm a musician, not a dancer after all.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

November ends, December begins. Rachel completes her edit phase in record time. When I ask her about it, she explains that she's always had a natural knack for revisions. She creates a PDF of all now five-hundred-eighty-five pages and sends it to beta-readers, and then an editor in Edmonton. With that done, she begins to focus on other things. For example, her Ballroom Showcase on the 13th, end-of-term grades, and my birthday.

She and Mom team up on my birthday. Every time I come home from practice with the band, I see them cover up papers and turn off cell phones. Rachel panicked one day when we came home from school and a large box was out on the porch. It turned out to be a delivery from Dad's work, but both of them now guard the mail like feral beasts.

Corey, Kin, and Kon are all very well kept up on the subject of my birthday, though I'm not. All they tell me is to keep the 15th, the day of my birthday, open and to not schedule any events for that day. Corey comes over, as always, to help my family decorate my tree. Mom pops popcorn and buys three large bags of cranberries for us to hang up. Rachel, who isn't handy with a needle, helps Mom hang lights up. Dad puts the star up, then eats popcorn and drinks hot chocolate for the next hour while we finish it all. Corey and I stuck around long enough to help Mom frost Christmas cookies. His and mine are far neater than Rachel's. We have to ditch so we can go get ready for a gig, but it's fun while it lasts. Corey shoves me outside as Rachel comes down the stairs with a stack of papers.

Corey and Kin start to help Rachel and I piece together lyrics, and soon we come up with a chorus. In our spare time in Music Theory, we pen notes and bars and chords. We start to book the music room with our teacher so we can practice with the tech in there. It's the most beautiful song we've ever written… so far.

My grades took a small detour at the start of the month but begin to improve as everyone starts to crack down for end-of-term. Rachel starts to stay after school more and more for ballroom practices. After I leave math one day, I run into a very large crowd that's gathered around the lunch room. Because I'm so short, I manage to wiggle my way to the front. I see Rachel with her hair back in a high ponytail and a dress as she dances with a partner five inches taller. Two other people spin around them. It isn't a T-Swift song that plays, but a swift, fast beat nonetheless. It sounds like bubblegum pop. The team twists and spins and never pauses to breathe. It reminds me of when Bryson and his partner ripped up the concrete at the dance club. They're fast and full of energy, and powerful.

It's a Ballroom promotion. How could it not be, with all their impressive movements and choreography? Each of them switches partners and they start to move faster. The boys lead and the girls follow. I clap and cheer along with everyone else. After they end they walk off down the hall. I wave to Rachel, but she doesn't see me. They have to go undress and make it to their next classes; we don't have lunch together.

Kin and Kon sit at our table, but Corey decided he wanted pizza and is stuck in the most lengthy line in the lunchroom.

They look like death and peril personified as I slide onto the bench.

"Hey, guys," I say as I push my tray a little forward. Our food isn't as bad as America's, but my head throbs at the lunchroom's smell. "Who died?" I ask as I pull out my homework from Math.

I see their shadows shrug as I keep my eyes trained downwards and search for the pertinent paper. Kon's fat hand taps the table space in front of my tray. I glance up at him, pencil in hand, and observe their dicey expressions. "Er, Laney," Kin says as he shifts his eyes back and forth along the grains in the table. I wait and flick my eyes back and forth between the two of them. The seat next to me drops, and a warm hand lands on my shoulder.

"Hey Lanes," Corey says with a smile. "How are you?"

My heart warms a little. "I'm good." I smile. "How are you?"

"I'm great. I'm gonna try and ask Rachel out tonight." An apple sails across the room into a garbage can behind his head as he smiles.

"Oh." I choke. "Oh, that's great."

"Yeah, I can't wait." He smiles and picks up his pizza. Steam wafts off it.

I sit in silence. Kin and Kon both stare across the table at me with concern, and I understand that Kon knows. Kin told him. I want to curl in on myself, bow my head a little, but Corey starts to talk again. I hold my chin a little higher and try my best to pay attention to him.

"I saw her dance out in the lunchroom commons. She was awesome, they all were. They were back and forth and-" He pauses to sigh and take a breath at the same time. "Anyway, I hope she says yes. For one of our dates, we could go out to dance somewhere. I'd have to learn. Do you know how to dance Laney?"

I swallow. "Not very well. I, um, learned a little bit about how to breakdance a little while ago."

Corey sighs. "Well, I don't want to have to ask her how to, but…" He drums his fingers on the table. "Breakdance? That's cool. You should do that for our next show."

I open my mouth to answer but someone slides into the seat on my other side and puts a tentative arm around my shoulder. "Talking about me?" Someone asks. I close my eyes and take a quick breath before I turn around.

"Hey, Bryson." I smile. "No, Corey wants to find a dance teacher." Bryson looks a little disappointed. I sigh.

"Oh, well, um, we have a few extra seats in our car…" He says as he glances at the three other boys at the table. Kin and Kon train their eyes downward and pull out their phones to distract themselves.

"Oh no, that's fine Bryson," I say. "Corey wants to find a waltz, ballroomy-type teacher."

"Oh." He says with a furrowed brow. "Isn't your cousin the ballroom dancer? Why not ask her?"

"He wants to learn for her," I mutter.

Bryson begins to laugh. "Ms. Barabossi?" He chortles. "Well, Mr. Corey, I wish you the best of luck. The rumor is she's untouchable." Corey blinks at the sudden change of mood. His orange beanie slips down over his forehead.

I nod. "The rumors are true," I whisper, so quiet both Corey and Bryson lean in to hear. "She, um, isn't interested in boys. She likes to dance. And write."

"Well, she may act differently if it's someone she knows well, right?" Corey asks. Corey doesn't know her at all. I shrug.

"Core, not even I would have a chance if I were lesbian."

"Are you a lesbian?" Bryson asks. He talks really fast. I wince.

"No, no I like guys," I reassure him.

I fold in on myself. No matter what I do, neither boy will take the hint. Am I strong enough to say it straight out? No, I am not. My phone buzzes. I flip the screen face-up discreetly and see a message from a new group chat with both Kin and Kon in it. Kin's said: "This conversation will be the death of all my brain cells."

Kon says: "Tell me about it."

"Hey, Laney," Corey said as he points ahead of us. "While we speak of untouchable, there's your friend. The goth chick." I look up, and see Antoinette with her shoulders hunched in, chin tucked down. She weaves her way around the far wall of the lunchroom.

Kin is the first of our group to turn around. I swallow. "Yeah, it is," I say. "I should go say hi." I stand up and feel around under the table for my backpack. I stuff my forgotten math homework in and start to open the compartment where my pencils are.

"I'll go with you!" Bryson volunteers and starts to rise. Corey's arm shoots around me and grabs his sleeve.

"Trust me hotshot, bad idea." He nods toward Antoinette. "She's got issues. Men anxiety and such."

Kin turns back to his lunch. "We don't want to jump to conclusions –" he says around a mouthful. "-But we think someone abused her." It's strange to know Antoinette has been a topic of conversation among them.

"Well, I don't want to give away her secrets, but yeah. Lots of people – men – have hurt her." I lean down as I whisper. I nudge Corey's arm and he releases Bryson. I slip out. "Sorry Bryson," I hurry. "Corey's right. Thanks, guys." I start to walk away, and while en route I dump my lunch in the trash and duck under a senior's arm.

More rings are in her lip than normal. She's put white streaks in her hair. Her face is even paler. I call out before I tap her shoulder, but she still jumps at the contact.

"Why, Cuddle-bug!" She beams a little at the sight of me.

"Antoinette! How are you?" I cheer and give her a quick, one-armed hug. Her hair moves aside, and her duckling appears from its nap spot. It quacks, then starts to comb through strands of Antoinette's hair. She laughs and pets its little head.

"I'm lovely!" She smiles. "And I've finally decided on what to call him!" 'Him' must be the duck in her hair. The only male she's comfortable with. She puts her hand up by her hair and the duck waddles out and plops down in her palm. She holds him out to me like a trophy. "Ames!" She says with a bright smile. "It means companion."

I coo and rub the fluff on top of the duckling's head. "You are lovely Antoinette. And, your little companion is as noble and well-mannered as usual." Antoinette laughs. She glances around the lunchroom.

"You okay?" I ask as I pick up on her unease.

"Yup. Just lookin' for my friends." She smiles and shrugs.

I stick my arm out and smile. "Need an escort?" I ask. She smiles and loops her arm through mine. I pick a path through the lunchroom and tug her forward.

She leans closer to me, and whispers in my ear: "What's up on your end?"

I shrug. "Drama." I trail off and she nods. She points towards a table I've never noticed before. I guide her towards it. A very large group of girls share seats and laps. Some have facial piercings, one has neon blue hair. One sits as alone as she can here and holds her stomach like she's either about to throw up or she has something to protect. I swallow. On second thought, it might be both. Antionette is now the guide as she leads me to sit on the far side of the table. She puts her hand on this girl with plain, mousy hair. The girl looks up as we pass, and I see puffy red eyes, stained cheeks, and dark irises. She has differently shaped eyes and more narrow cheekbones. She must have some Asian heritage in her. Cool.

Ames waddles off of Antoinette's shoulder and flaps for balance as he climbs onto the table. Antoinette nudges him with her finger, and he flaps his way over to the shattered ghost of a girl.

The girl laughs with a cracked throat and cuddles Ames. Antoinette smiles and then turns to me. "Everyone, this is Laney." She announces. Everyone says "Hi Laney" in near-perfect unison, and then they all laugh at themselves. Antoinette smiles as everyone chuckles at themselves. Her eyes flick back to the girl next to her, who has started to cry again. I swallow, clear my throat, and lean over to Antoinette. Before I can spit any words out, she gives me a pointed look and says: "That's my sugar-shins."

The sobbing girl, whose name I now know in my heart, laughs without her heart in it. Antoinette leans over and slings an arm around her shoulder as Cleo hides her face away. The rest of the girls at the table all lean toward her.

The is the Cleopatra that Antoinette mentioned when we first met. I swallow. This is the girl who went home with bruises after an assault. She lives in a hell I will never have to encounter.

I don't have the stomach for conversation, and a few minutes later I excuse myself. The last image I see is Antoinette's duckling as it climbs up onto Cleo's shoulder.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

We record a demo track of our song after school while Rachel does touch-ups with the ballroom team. To my surprise, Corey dishes out part of the lyrics for Kin, Kon, and I to sing. Since he's our lead singer, this is a huge deviation. He still gets the first bridge and chorus, but he and I split the rest of it. Kin and Kon get the first verse.

The Music teacher knows us, so we don't need a supervisor unless one of the pieces of equipment gets broken. Also, he's exhausted, so any sort of deal where we lock up and clean is a plus in his book.

It takes about five minutes to record all the bits and bobs we've come up with, and then we listen to them on repeat for a while. We each have a piece of paper with the lyrics on them, so we can write down thoughts as they come. Or, at least, that's the general idea. Kon, I know, only plays tic-tac-toe on the edges of his paper.

Corey stops the song after the sixth or seventh replay. We sit in a circle and do last minute touch-ups on our notes. Finally, Corey speaks up. "We should cut the part about pistons and distance from this song." He says with much solemnity.

Kin sighs in relief. "Oh thank goodness. I didn't want to be the first to say it."

Corey looks over at me in sympathy. "Sorry Laney." He apologizes.

I wave him off. "It's okay Core. I knew when I first introduced it that it was a longshot." To be honest, I was glad I didn't have to cut my own lyric. "A different song with a more similar tempo?" He nods and looks relieved.

"We need a new place for the 'and I was falling, shattering like glass.'" Kin suggests as he pushes his glasses up his nose. Corey examines the paper.

"Yeah, I thought we could switch it out with-"

"'Against cold bare stones in shades of blue, the smell of new became the smell of you?" I cut in with a smile. We high-five.

"Perfect!" He cheers.

"Great minds think alike!" I quip. "I also wanted to talk about these bobs we have: 'we've crossed the Rubicon; you're no longer my someone.' And 'My trials and their recompense customize my confidence.''

"I want to keep them," Corey confesses. "They're almost as killer as those Swift lyrics you recited in the garage last September."

I catch my breath. I can't believe he remembered. "You… must have thought about those a lot."

He adjusts his beanie. "Yeah, I mean, I don't like her or her music, but gosh, I wish I could write like that." He looks downcast for a second but then springs into action. "We should pull them together! Make them the chorus!"

"Yeah, I can agree with that." Kin speculates. He leans over and nudges Kon with his elbow. "Any notes you want to add, bro?"

Kon coughs and looks around. I see a nearly-completed game of Mash on his page and roll my eyes. The door bangs open, and Rachel stands bewildered in the doorway. "Um, sorry!" She calls. "I didn't realize it would open so fast!"

She pushes the doorstop underneath the door and walks over. "You have your phone on you?" She asks me. We all glance over to where we hooked my phone up to the microphone to record all the notes we were gonna make. I wince.

"Um, Yeah, I have it… but it happens to be ten feet away and behind a very powerful speaker, sorry."

"Oh, I see." I take a moment to examine her. Flushed cheeks and crumpled outfit. Her ponytail isn't centered anymore.

"Are you okay?" I ask. She nods, but her heart isn't in it. I don't want to push… it isn't my business. I stand up and push my chair away instead. "Give us a moment to clean up," I tell her as I keep my eyes locked on the concrete. She nods and goes to stand by the door. Corey, Kin, and Kon all pitch in to get it all done.

"Do you need a ride?" Rachel asks. Kin and Kon shake their heads.

"No thanks, Rachel," Corey says. "We have plans to stay after for the basketball game. But I did want to ask you a question."

"Oh?" Rachel's voice cracks. Her spine is stiff and straight as she waits for the blow.

"Yeah, do you want to go out sometime? Y'know, on a date?" Corey removes his beanie for a second and twists it in his hands.

"No thank you, Corey." Rachel blurts out. "That's very nice of you, but unfortunately I'm not interested in any dates."

I watch his heart break. He replaces his beanie on his head, and at that moment, there is no optimism in him, only disappointment. "Oh, that's okay." He tries to smile. "Thanks for your honesty." At his expression, my heart folds in on itself.

Kin and Kon both put their hands on his shoulders and pull him away. "Goodbye Rachel. See you tomorrow Laney." They say. Corey only waves and they leave. Rachel and I weave our way through the school to the front car lot in silence. As we pass the sports commons, the away team emerges.

They call out to Rachel like everyone does. I know when I see her eyes that she doesn't have the strength to deal with this tonight.

"Sugar, sugar!" They yell. "Give us a smile! Won't you wish us luck tonight?"

I stop in the middle of the hall and clench my teeth. Then I spin around and yell back: "I'll wish you a black eye tomorrow!"

Silence reigns and they stare at us in shock. A hand lands on my shoulder, and Rachel leads me away. We push our way out into the frigid December air, and she unlocks the car. It is like the first time I saw it parked in a million other cars that belonged to my family, only now coated in glassy ice. When she opens it there is a rush of air and the smell of all things new rushes out. As I buckle up, I finally am able to link the scent with Rachel.

Rachel and I sit in the car for a half hour with the doors locked, with the heaters as high as they will go. We sing along to what Rachel calls 'Sad Taylor Swift' and watch the ice melt on the windshield. She is the first one to cry, but I know I sob for longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs:
> 
> I made cinnamon rolls the day I wrote this, so that's why that detail is in here.
> 
> I grew up pointing out the cinder-block road sign for our hometown with my brothers. I really miss doing that.
> 
> I remember struggling through the Odyssey. Wasn't a fan at all.
> 
> A casual first attempt at slipping a teen pregnancy here; was inspired by a few horror stories I read on Pinterest, but I didn't want to make it too big since it was going in the middle of Cleo's scene.
> 
> Gosh, this chapter just makes me sad.


	9. I Could Have Danced All Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ow, ow, ow, my heart. I typed this after I just finished editing the chapter and my heart feels like it has a pin in it.
> 
> Today I'd like to shout-out to YouYou098 and starspangledfeels.
> 
> YouYou098 – This beta-reader gave me tons of input on making my characters look right. I know my physical descriptions have never been up to par so I was super pumped for something I could work on. Thank you so much!
> 
> starspangledfeels – You were another really great grammar beta reader for me! Thank you so much for your exuberance and your willingness to help out! I really enjoyed examining your feedback!
> 
> I do not own Grojband or it's original characters.

On Wednesday the thirteenth, Corey, Kin, Kon and I leave to perform at the Peaceville museum of art. Rachel stays behind at the school to get ready for the Ballroom showcase.

Corey, it seems, has recovered for the most part. He smiles and sings, and we put on a good show, but he still slips away with a Pepsi for a few minutes. I know Kin and Kon notice it too.

From the museum, we walk to my mom's shop, which sits off the corner of Main Street. I'm not there very often because of my mom's efforts to keep work separate from family.

Mom's shop is a conglomeration of Gothic, Chinatown, and Disney, a reflection of herself. Corey leans back as he brushes through a rack of patterned Chinese dresses. His beanie falls forward on his head as he slips underneath some hats that hang from the ceiling. I laugh as he readjusts it.

I spot Mom as she finishes someone's order. She scribbles, pushes buttons and reminds the store she's about to close. She doesn't acknowledge our appearance. After she hands a customer a receipt, she seizes her car keys and hurls them at me. I duck, but Kon catches them in midair. Without a word, we tromp out to the car lot and set off the alarm to find the car.

We stuff our speakers into mom's trunk and keep our instruments on our laps. Kon struggles, and so Kin takes one of the drum heads while he puts them back inside of each other. I fiddle with the dials on the radio. Mom doesn't have a touchscreen console.

She comes out after she closes up and turns the heater up. We drive to the school and stand in line for a half hour to buy tickets into Rachel's dance. When we get up there, the douchebag who picks on her sits behind the counter. Anger becomes a bitter taste in my mouth. It's sharp, and stings, and acts like a computer virus as it infects every pore I have. I bite my lip.

"Ayy, it's Barabossi's cousin!" He calls. I cast my eyes downward and step on my own foot. He examines each of us, Corey, Kin, Kon, Mom, and I. I roll my eyes. It's not like Rachel's short enough to hide behind us. "Tell your cousin I said hi," He says as he hands Mom the tickets and a program. My mother takes them but doesn't pull her hands back. I glance up.

Her face startles me. She's hard and cold, frosty around the edges. The boy backs up a bit in his seat. Mom says: "Maybe I'll mention it. But most likely not." She snatches the tickets from his outstretched hand as it trembles in shock, and we turn and walk away. Corey stumbles away and looks amazed.

"Wow." He leans up and whispers in my ear. "Your mom bites."

"Do you not like him, Mrs. Penn?" Kin asks. Corey and I fall to the back of the group.

"No," Mom says with an edge to her voice. She hasn't ever used this voice around me. "I don't like him at all."

Corey whistles a little. "I'm glad I'm not on your bad side."

Mom has to try to calm down so that she doesn't glare a hole through my best friend. "Believe me, Corey," she hisses. "Me too."

We find our seats in the far right of the auditorium, and I find myself sandwiched between Mom and Corey. Mom leans over and whispers: "I don't want you to talk to that boy out there Laney. Please stay away from him."

"Mom." I swallow and then say: "I wouldn't want to go near him anyway."

The lights dim before she responds. Rachel's dance teacher appears on a corner of the stage, and she talks a lot about stage etiquette. How our cell phones disrupt the computer signals, and to keep our feet off the seats and no catcalling. Then she leaves the stage, and there's a long pause before the loud music begins. Lights come on, and it's a song I know very well. In fact, it's one of our songs. Grojband sang this back when I was fourteen. Corey laughs. Grojband as a group joins hands and lifts them up, and when we bring them down, Corey's and mine stay entwined.

We watch the dancers come on stage in a beautiful whirl of fancy costumes. They line up in perfect rows and begin to dance a jig. I see Rachel as her partner lifts her up on his forearm, pristine and punctual and pretty. The costume makes her look curvier than normal. She moves upstage in the second half of the song, and when she spins I see the rainbow lining of her skirt.

The show is an hour long, and I see Rachel in seven dances. I don't know how she had the time to learn everything. Mom cries when Rachel waltzes across the stage in a pretty school-issued silver dress. I never hear Corey talk, but when the lights come on at the end of the show, he cheers. As a sort of afterthought, he raises our hands and kisses my knuckles with a goofy grin before he lets go.

I try not to read too much into it. He's goofy and impulsive, and in love with Rachel, but for a single moment in time, he was mine.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

On my birthday, I wake up with the sheets once again half on the floor and half around my neck. I smell baking sugar. I make my bed and get dressed in an outfit that suits Rachel more but looks good enough on me: blue jeans and combat boots. Two different tops, one a solid maroon color and the other a black ripped top. When I open the door, Rachel, who can hear me from down the hall, appears and hands me a bright yellow bag.

"Happy birthday!" She cheers. "Sweet sixteen!" She glances down at my outfit and nods her approval. "You dressed well."

I take the bag with a big smile. "Thank you. Well for what?" Mom and Dad both appear at the top of the stairs. When I peek over Rachel's left shoulder, I can see him wrap an arm around her. She smiles.

Rachel laughs. "Go on, silly." She prods.

I take off the glittery paper that covers the top of the bag and peek inside before I sit down. Rachel, mom, and dad all come and sit on the floor in front of my door as I pull things out. "Bubblegum…" I say and place a large package on the ground. "Pistachios, beef jerky, an iTunes Gift Card, sound-proof headphones?" I raise an eyebrow at her, but I smile so she can get the message that I do appreciate her gift.

At the bottom of the bag is a card, meant for me to open last. I scrape the base to try to catch the edge and pull out a pastel pink card. Pastel pink is a perfect color to apply to Rachel. Pastel pink, vibrant orange, and teal green. I try and slice open the seam with my finger, but my nails are too soft. Mom chuckles and hands me a bent paper clip, which serves as a letter opener. A dollar-store birthday card is inside. When I open the card, three slips of paper fall into my lap.

I pick them up and stare at them. Sudden excitement wells up inside me. I gasp before I dive back towards the card and drink up the words written there with eager anticipation. 'Dear Laney,' it reads. 'Happy sixteenth birthday! It's been awesome to live with you, but I'll be honest, I missed my travels! I've always been a travel guru! Thought it'd be fun to take a trip! Have you ever been to the U.S.A? Happy birthday; hope you like New York! ~Rachel.'

The slips of paper are tickets reading: 'Round Trip. Destination: New York City.'

"Oh my gosh!" I gasp. "Oh my gosh!"

Mom smiles. "There's a ticket for you, me, and Rachel. We'll spend the day in New York and get back about seven." My eyes bug out.

"This. Is. Amazing! How did you do it?" I scream as I hug both her and Dad.

Rachel shrugs. "Rewards points. We went lots of places when I was younger."

I laugh and hug her too. Her arms are long around my shoulders. My heart is so happy that the happiness disconnects from the word and its true pure emotion. No longer garnered by syllables but brought to a new intent. Gosh, I should write that down and use it as lyrics. That must be why Rachel writes.

I know it's why I devote my life to music.

I haven't been in a car with Dad for months. He drives us to the airport, runs to grab a wheelie cart for us, and insists on loading our bags out of the car and onto the cart. Though it's been years since he broke his back, Mom watches him, and she winces when he sets down her backpack.

I don't know why he insisted on the cart. We're only gone for today. We didn't even pack any clothes. We each hold a backpack filled with bags and snacks and a notebook if you're Rachel.

He walks us as far as the gate. There's a ton of security. Big men and women with dark suits run all our stuff through x-rays. You have to stand in a cylinder-shaped x-ray machine to get through.

"Is it like this everywhere?" I ask Rachel. She contemplates and shakes her head. "I mean, some countries crack down their security, but not lots. The United States has been big on it ever since the fall of the towers in 2001. In Europe, you can drive an hour and have gone through three countries, so they don't screen as much. That's all part of the union though." She pauses. "The US doesn't let many people in at all, actually. They say they're crowded. I don't know for sure though. I don't live there. I know it's tough for Mexicans and anyone in the Middle East who wants to get in there, though. President Trump isn't very driven toward their case." I nod. In school, I hear lots of kids make jokes about President Trump. Most of their jokes are "Build a wall!" or are intended towards his hair.

The people at the airport have to search me by hand because the machine picks up a trace of a dangerous substance on the tips of my fingers. I don't make a sound of course, but I'll never recover from the shock of the machine's sirens. They chuckle and say I must have set my hand somewhere.

It's a small plane, with two seats on each side of the aisle. Rachel sits in front of us, and Mom sits beside me. They take special care to make sure I get the window seat because I've never flown before.

The plane takes forever to move, and my stomach does flip-flops when the craft shudders. Unlike in a car, it doesn't feel like we're moving. It's like a TV Screen, and only the world outside of us is moving. This feels almost fake. The flight attendants walk around to ask us to tuck our carry-ons between our legs and to buckle up.

The pilot lines us up on the runway, and then we're still for about thirty seconds. I crane my neck to peek at the back of Rachel's head. Mom laughs at my anxiousness. I lean down to rummage in my bag for my bubble gum. As I grab a piece, I hear the engines begin. I jump back up, partly because I want to see the takeoff, and party because the force presses me into the seat. My chest feels like several heavyweights press onto it. The ground moves faster, and faster, and then the floor seems to tilt up a little. I know when the wheels leave the ground because the plane drops a little, and then picks up speed. The ground shrinks, and I'm to both gape and gasp at the view. The weight comes off my chest, and I'm flying.

The attendants give us a rundown of plane safety. That includes our seats that double as flotation devices and the oxygen mask protocol. Near the end of their spiel, the all-clear for no seat belts comes on, and I unclip mine. When the attendants sit down, I scoot past mom and have my first walk on a plane 20,000 feet up. Rachel laughs at my giddiness.

The air WiFi sucks. I can't text the band, but every few minutes the page loads and I can read their messages. I let Mom borrow my sound-proof headphones and Rachel and her switch seats. Mom takes a nap, but Rachel and I talk. We talk a lot about the songs for the band. A lot of it has started to click, but not with the music, so she and I decide to write two different songs with what we have. In short, we split all our notes down the center. One will be a ballad, the other a soft pop song.

Rachel, it seems, is scatter-brained. She goes into her own world and scribbles ideas on a pack of sticky notes she kept in her pocket. I come up with a few bars and then scribble some new lyrics down. It's funny, but English comes easier now. I guess after so much time spent decoding each rule and loophole, it's become more natural. My grade in English has improved, and my teacher recommended I take an IB course during my Junior Year, next year.

I peek over Rachel's shoulder and watch her scribble down, not a lyric, but a description. "7'2 tall girl, her 4'5 best male friend. Hobo railway riders in the Great Depression. Both insecure about their height but sometimes she'll let him sit on her shoulders and they laugh."

I smile at the sweet image that forms in my mind. She jumps as she realizes I'm looking.

"Oh, um, sorry Laney! I didn't see you there!" I raise an eyebrow and she screws up her face and mentally facepalms. She brushes sticky notes aside. "Sorry, I haven't been able to get this idea out of my head." I shake my head.

"It's beautiful. You came up with it?"

She shrugs. "I saw people get on a train on my way to the store a few weeks ago. It – clicked." She gathers up two or three sticky notes. "There's some lyric ideas if you like."

I glance at the futile papers. One is full of random words, and another reads: 'Quit playing me; I'm not a toy.' I crane my head back over her shoulder to read the other papers. She moves a few in a self-conscious manner, and that startles me. Most of the time she's sure of herself, comfortable in her skin.

As she sweeps some off her fold-out table, I read the words off of one stuck to the center of her table. "We were friends until we took too long, you put your hands places they shouldn't have gone. Silent agreements we made in the sun were broken as soon as the light was gone."

I grab the paper before she can pull it away and examine it. "You could switch out the 'they shouldn't have gone' with 'they didn't belong'." I look back up to meet her green eyes and she's stiff. "Rachel?" I question her. The corners of her mouth perk up in a perfect smile as she returns to earth.

"You're right." She says with a smile. She pulls another paper out of the stack she swept aside and hands it to me. "I also have that one."

I read aloud: "Pretty Wallflower, sitting out in the shower, be sure to watch the hour before you're losing your 'our'." I nod my approval, and together we piece together the start of a new song.

After a little over an hour, Rachel points out the window, and informs me: "We're over New York now." I gasp as delight fills me and turn to press my palms against the small window. New York is sunny today, and as the plane dips lower I can see cars appear, little pinpricks down below me. I rush to gather all our papers, but Rachel laughs and slows me. "Calm down, it'll take them a while to land the plane."

Someone taps my shoulders, and Mom hands my headphones up. "Have a nice nap?" I tease. She laughs and nods.

"Oh yes, I wish they'd had those back when I traveled. Or even when I first married your father!" I laugh, because I know it's a joke. The sun hits her mussed red hair through the window, and I notice she has her gigantic gold earrings in. I can't believe I didn't notice them before.

The plane shudders when it lands like it did when it took off, like a simulation game where it shakes and thumps. My head presses back into the seat, and Rachel scoops up all the papers and tucks them into her backpack. She unwinds her headphones and plugs them into her phone. The plane comes to a stop, and after a few minutes, we all stand up and move toward the port of exit. Rachel gives one of her earbuds to me before we step out of the gate, and Taylor Swift's Welcome to New York is playing. I laugh and almost cry too. I hold hands with both my mom and Rachel, and my cousin and I sing along as we walk out into my first breath of New York air.

It's salt-filled, and warm despite the December weather. And so humid it's like I'm drinking the air instead of breathing it. Laughter wells up inside me.

Mom brought a polaroid, so she takes a picture of Rachel and me outside the airport. A picture prints out, and I know we'll have a collection by the time today is over.

We go to the beach, and the sand is gritty and the water is cold and I love it. Rachel splashes with a few little kids, and when three boys begin whistle at her, she points at me and says: "I know! She's pretty, right?"

Rachel's all about the small shops that aren't for tourists, but for real people. She buys me a book about music, and Mom gets me a red leather vest to wear over my shirt. We get lunch in the mall and have a blast singing Disney songs going up the elevators. Other people who we don't know join in.

We get our nails done in a shop and visit Time's square and the Statue of Liberty. Mom lets me use her camera long enough for me to catch a photo of the real Rachel. The Rachel who doesn't try to please anyone or defend herself. She scribbles on the corner of a notepad in the shadow of the Statue. Mom laughs when she sees the photo. Without any fight or consideration, I understand that Mom now has two daughters.

She was never meant to be a mother, but I've always underestimated her. She may not have known how to raise me, but she sure knew how to be my mother.

Mom buys us all Grojband t-shirts from a music store tucked up in-between a cluster of ice cream parlors. Rachel buys the ice cream. I didn't realize we were that popular in the U.S at all. It's so strange to see the collection of our faces on mugs, shirts, and the same professional CD's we have at home.

I drift off in the cab back to the airport. Mom tucks me under her arm as she leads me back through security, and to a seat by the window. She puts my headphones on for me and kisses my forehead before I fade out of the world. The rumble of the airplane as it shoots back into the sky lulls me off into dreamland.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

THUD. My eyes open and I clutch my forehead where it banged the window. It's dark. A stream of angled light points at Rachel, who sits beside me with a full page of notebook paper in her lap. I pull off my headphones, wide awake, and realize she is asleep, her head bent back onto the seat. I pick the paper off her tray and move her head so she won't get knots in her neck.

It's a story, or rather the beginnings of one. I picture Rachel's cherry laptop with its well-loved spots. It will have several more as she starts this. My eyes skim over the page, and it shocks me how bad it is. Misspelled words, bad grammar. It looks like a story I would write. The story itself doesn't make sense either. One of the main characters hurts their leg and then skips with their friends later down the page. One of the character's names is Jackobi, which doesn't fit the railway-hopper time-period.

I guess every novel has its own horrible beginnings. I never thought about that. I guess I kind of assumed the author spat out the typed pages of their ideas. Like how a printer spits out papers. Authors are like the rest of us, except they take time to root out their problems and develop ideas. I should have known that. It's not like Grojband creates songs out of thin air either.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dad meets us outside the airport again, and loads our backpacks up into the car, and kisses my mom hello. The three of us chatter through the car ride and tell him about all the places we visited. In fact, we chat so much I almost miss when we sail right past our house.

"Whoops! Dad, wrong turn." I tell him. He looks into the rear-view mirror at me. "Oh no, Laney. We have one more surprise for you tonight." He says.

Another? After New York? But he pulls up in front of a darkened building, and he leaves to go inside. Mom pulls something out from under her seat, and I gasp to see it is a long and pretty black dress. I do a quick change in the car, and then Rachel offers to do my makeup. I allow her, and bold, daring streaks of silver appear along my eyelids. Then they blindfold me and lead me inside.

I'm not dumb. I've figured out by now they're going to do a party.

There is silence inside the building. Rachel removes the blindfold, but it's still dark. Someone whispers: "Now." And the lights come on. I'm as blind as I was in the dark for a few seconds, and then my eyes adjust. Colorful pastel streamers are strung in pretty spirals all around the room. Confetti strewed here and there. Large Papier-mâché flowers hang among the streamers. And people. So many people. I wave at Bryson and laugh to see Kin and Kon at the chocolate fountain. Kon's wearing a spaghetti strainer, and they're dipping strawberries. They set the chocolate-covered red berries on skewers and place them in the holes in the strainer. I crane my head to see if I can find Corey, and I gasp. In a corner of the room, sheltered by several other girls, I see the half-shaved head of Antoinette. I jump towards her, weave through four or five other people and put my arms around her.

"Why, Juliet, don't you look the part of a star!" She sings as she examines me. She leans over and kisses the top of my head. The weight of something falls on my head and so I pull away. Her duckling sits on the crown of my head, where he flaps to keep his balance.

"Now careful!" She chastises me. "Don't pull away so quick or he'll fall!" She pets the duckling under his beak, and he swells up his little chest. I chuckle and rub his head. He dips his head and leans into the touch.

"Are you okay with being here?" I ask her. "I mean, there's a lot of people and… how did my parents even know to invite you?"

"I'm alright. My therapist said that I need to try being around people more. It's why I've been trying to go to lunch." She shakes her head, and there's an edge to her shoulders. "And actually, one of your friends invited me."

Shock settles in. "Who?" I ask.

She points past a group of girls and toward the chocolate fountain. "Kin." She tells me. "He left a note on my lunch table before I got there."

Kin, wow, that's clever. A bit over the top, but cool. He was both smart enough to realize she had problems and find a way to connect to her without hurting her. Antoinette chuckles. "Anyway, I'm going to leave you to socialize, Cuddle-bug."

She breaks away and weaves her way through a less-crowded part of the room.

Everyone is beautiful. Dresses and suits, it's like a ball. I walk over to the chocolate fountain, where Kin is putting the last strawberries on sticks. "Hey, Laney!" Kon says as he adjusts one of the sticks in his impromptu hat.

"How was New York?" Kin asks as he reaches up to put another strawberry in.

"It was big and beautiful. Hey, you invited Antoinette?" I ask as I poke one of the strawberries.

Kin nods. "I thought you and her were kinda good friends, so I told Rachel to expect her. Is that okay?"

"Yes, it's great!" I cheer. "I do worry she'll be a little tense here." I look over my shoulder and find Antoinette in the crowd with her ducking in her hands.

"Yeah, I was curious, but she seems… okay?" Kin says from behind her. I look back at him, and his eyes dart out from behind the spaghetti strainer to look over at her. He's lingering.

Something happens in my heart, and I realize that Kin has grown a soft spot for her, even from afar. I choke back a gasp and realize I wouldn't mind if they got together. In fact, I'd like it.

"Um, Kin," I stammer. "You do realize she's lesbian, right?"

He turns red. "I-I don't think anything will happen." He confesses. "She's got a lot of stuff, and it won't work."

I wish it would, but I have to agree with him. I nod.

Before I ever see Corey, they bring out a beautiful cake with light blue frosting. It smells like fruit. Everyone cheers as my parents light it up. Someone calls for the lights to go off as I stare.

"Make a wish!" Someone calls.

There are a million things I could wish for. Kin and Antoinette, Corey and I, Rachel and her problems. My eyes flit about. Mom and Dad are holding each other, gazing at me with pride. Even though it's dark, I can see the tears on Mom's cheeks. Her baby is growing up.

My wish is for a few moments like this I can hold in my heart. After all, one day I won't be sixteen, a music star, a high school student. One day I may be a wife, a mother, a music producer, who knows? So, for now, I wish for moments I can see my parents in love before we have to let each other go. I wish for small laughs with Rachel when the world isn't crushing her. I wish for quick glances with Corey, the graces of teenage love when I do not know where it will go.

I get one bite of my cake. It's chocolate with raspberry-lime curd filling. As soon as I've taken that one bite, there's a tap on my shoulder. I turn and find Corey. He's in a suit, which I've never seen him in before, and he's smiling at me. He takes my hand and bows, pressing a kiss to my hand. His beanie is gone, and he's combed his hair back. His blue hair sticks flat to his head. My stomach does flip-flops as he looks up at me. He's wearing blue eyeliner. I laugh.

"Happy 16th birthday, Lanes." He says. "You haven't even said 'hi' to me yet!"

"Thanks, Core. Don't you look like a charmer!" We laugh together, and like a movie, music starts.

Corey turns my hand around, and asks: "May I have this dance?" I can breathe, and I nod. He sweeps me away and we weave our way through groups of people. He takes me straight to the center and puts his hand on my waist and holds my hand higher.

"You know how to dance?" I asked, shocked. He grins.

"Rachel taught me for tonight. Here, follow me." He guides me backward, forward, in a small circle, and then we're off. We spin, and my spirits begin to soar. It's like dancing on a wide expanse of cloud, in my pretty dress with my pretty makeup and my handsome best friend. We don't dance like Rachel was onstage. We dance for ourselves, and for our friendship. And me? I dance for my crush. The person who will always hold a small piece of me, even if he never realizes it. This, by the way, is what the graces of first love feels like when you're a teenager.

I put my head on his shoulder.

He puts his head on mine.

We slow down, spinning, and I close my eyes. If I were Rachel, I would take my feelings, throw them on a page, and pray someone learned to understand me for them. But because I am me, I tap notes on Corey's tricep and the words jump to my head.

"I've always been a bird, waiting to land. I've always been the waves, racing towards the sand. And here you are, the birds the waves, the stars, all racing for my heart." I whisper to him. He laughs.

"Save those words; they're our next lyrics." His thumb slides over the back of my hand, and he leans down. Our next lyrics, too late to be a part of this song, but saved for the next one.

"You're my best friend Laney." He whispers in my ear. For tonight, the words don't hurt.

"I know," I whisper back, and I spin off and away in my own little world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs
> 
> My dad got stopped in one of those cylinder-scanners when I was a kid.
> 
> I'm considering writing a novel with those character descriptions. We'll see if I can develop a plot line suited to their needs.
> 
> That small tidbit about the red vest was written around the time I lost my aunt. I inherited a vest of that color from her.
> 
> Authors: Can you relate to Rachel's bad story beginnings?
> 
> The line Laney says about her mom, where "She may not have known how to raise me, but she sure knew how to be my mother" is something I wrote about my mother.
> 
> The title is a reference to a song from a Broadway play.
> 
> Hey, a question for the readers, did I capture that emotion near the end just right?


	10. The February Thaw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I finished editing this, I looked over at my mom and said "Oh my goodness! I can't believe it's almost over!"
> 
> Today I'd like to shout out thelegitlazycow2.0 and Miraculous Marauder.
> 
> thelegitlazycow2.0 - Thanks for dealing with my random brain lags so much! You really helped to make this story pop onto the page! I loved how you were willing to be down-to-earth and honest with me, and your feedback helped me build realistic, well-rounded characters. You also helped me lots with figuring out how to make these stupid lyrics work. Thanks!
> 
> Miraculous Marauder - dunno if I told you this, but I originally selected you as a beta reader because I loved, Loved, LOVED your username/picture. However, you proved to be a very skilled and competent beta reader! I was always happy to converse with you and see what new things you had for me to work on! Thanks for all your help, I hope to be able to work with you again!
> 
> I don't own Grojband.

Not long after my birthday, Rachel leaves for a while. She flies off to see her dad before Christmas comes and is gone all through January. Our house is empty; things are bleak. Mom wakes up in the mornings, fixes two or three mugs of coffee, and goes to fill a mug up with milk. Rachel always makes hot chocolate with milk. When she realizes, she sighs and sets the last mug back on the shelf with a sad smile. Whenever this pattern repeats, it makes me think of how it'll be in a few years when I leave. I can clearly see Mom pull down two mugs, and then tear up when she has to go put mine back. Even worse, I see her make two mugs, set one down on the counter at my place, and then remember I'm gone.

I could have used Rachel's bright spirit and her open door through the clear iciness on the first month of the year. Instead, I listened to Taylor Swift alone. YouTube recommends things to me, so for one week I listen to All Too Well, State of Grace, Drops of Jupiter, Paris, If Only, and Never Enough on repeat because that's all that comes on. Never Enough is a new song from a popular American movie. Other songs I listen to so much that I start to tap the beat out when I doze off include All About us, Kiss me Slowly, and A River Flows in You.

Bryson texted me about whether or not I wanted to go out again, and I thanked him but declined. We fell off. It's part of the endless cycle of 'you think you're good friends but then he wants to date and suddenly neither of you are allowed to talk to each other'. Corey, with Rachel gone, seems tamer, more chill. He surprises the band with some basic lyrics he came up with by himself. Since they're from Corey, they aren't the best, but better than a lot of the things he's done. We haven't used Trina's diary in months. People think we've started to gear up for a new album, but I feel really sheepish whenever people ask. Two songs isn't exactly an album, and that's where my not-so-secret comes in.

I started to write down all that's happened in my life and I've taken all the little sticky notes with lint stuck to the back full of ideas we won't use in these two songs and I've… combined them all. So I figure if I divide them up by beat and syllable counts, I have about six more songs I doodle on in my spare time. And it's weird; now that I've started to write the words come easier. One song is nearly complete. Maybe I'll show it to the band once the gig is over.

If I have to make a guess, I'd say that Rachel'll stay away until after Valentine's day. At our house, we have a small collection of Christmas Presents for her tucked behind the couch. We have a stack of mail that's come for her that we put on her dresser. The best package for her will be the copy of her book that came back from the editor with an outstanding review. We set it on her nightstand like the holy bible and told her to come home soon. She sent us a photo of her with her dad and the canals of Vienna behind her. I don't blame her for staying away so long.

That brings me to where I wait at the bus stop in the chilled February air as I miss Rachel. I sit on the curb with my coffee in a thermos beside me. My fingers are numb as I thumb to the band's group text. A notification blinks up at me: 'Big Gig in one month! Click for more info.' I don't need the notification; the band as a whole has drilled the chords of the new songs into our bones. My fingers bled at practice over the weekend because I rocked out too hard and the strings sliced my fingers. I feel like Rachel with all her edits.

I miss Rachel. I wish she was here, so she could drive me to school and let me pick out the music and then we could sing along to all her songs. Her car remains parked in the driveway, but I don't have a license yet, and I don't want to be in it without her.

The bus comes to take me away. I climb up and find a seat in the back. It's so strange how I want my perfect pretty cousin who everyone loves but no one respects back. I would have been so glad if this had happened the first week she was here.

The school is still empty, and there's no one to talk to. I only hang out with the band every other morning. Both Kin and Corey have college classes in the mornings, so they leave early and already aren't here. Kon has the first period off so he can volunteer at Peaceville Animal Shelter. That's his internship. I hang out with Antoinette.

Antoinette, Cleo, Margaret, and Susan like to hang out in the special needs classroom. Margaret and Susan are twins who were born connected at the thighs. The doctors cut them apart from each other, but both twins have no sense of touch in one of their legs. The government removed them from an abusive home at age nine. Both suffer a meth and cigarette addiction from their Mom and have some brain problems. It's sad.

Today is a bad day. Cleo has cried off all her mascara, and she trembles. Ames the duckling sits in an incubator on the side of the classroom, fast asleep. Antoinette looks like she hasn't slept. Margaret and Susan have gone into a state of mind where they can't see or hear anything. I pick my battles and go over to Cleo. Her mousy hair is in tangles and hangs around her head like an overgrown tree's branches. Her eyes, always red, have cracked, swollen, and turned purple. Black bruises line the corners of her eyes. Her lips have cracked and started to peel away. Bits of flesh peek out under the shreds of her skin. She bleeds from the mouth because she's bitten her cheek into a wound.

I find a comb in my bag and begin to untangle her curls. Antoinette has a water bottle at her feet. She wipes all Cleo's tears, careful to not irritate her face. I do my best to keep from pulling, but she hasn't washed her hair in what feels like days.

After a while, Cleo whispers "I can't do this anymore."

"Nonesuch talk," Antoinette says as she rubs her hands.

"I can't," Cleo admits. Her voice is the sound of a broken woman. I leave the comb and walk around to look her in the eyes.

"You are the strongest woman I know. You can do this. It doesn't have to rule you. You can overcome it."

She shakes her head, slow at first, then faster and faster. "You don't understand, Laney!" She yells. She pulls her hands from Antoinette's and the comb from her hair. Before she leaves the room, she kisses Antoinette on the forehead.

I glance over at Antoinette. "Was it me?"

She shakes her head with a smile. "No, it was good what you said. You only speak good Laney. She's in a rough patch. She'll get out; we all do in the end." I nod, and we hug, and I tuck the comb back in my bag as the bell rings for school to begin.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

For the first time in months, I clean my room. I open the windows and let the frost creep into my room. I make my bed and clean out clothes I haven't worn for a long time. When it looks decent, I prop my door open like Rachel's always is and stare for a long while at the 'Keep Out' Tape on my door. I haul the vacuum up the stairs, and Mom comes to stand in the doorway as I vacuum my room out.

Mom brings up an old pushpin board she's had for a few years. Together we hang it up beside my bed and put up thousands of photos of my life. A few are old ones of a me I don't recognize: A red-haired baby, a toddler dressed in pink. Others are recent, me under the Statue of Liberty, a photo of Corey and I, and one of Grojband onstage at the New Years' gig.

As a final thought, I return to the door and pull off the layers of Keep Out tape hung up by my clumsy twelve-year self. Mom helps me haul out the junk down to the curb, and I see it all off with the garbage man. As I climb the steps and skip the squeaky stair, I find Rachel's contact and begin to facetime her.

"Hey!" She says as she picks up. Someone calls to her. She yells back over her shoulder in a language I don't know before she turns back to me with a smile.

"Hi!" I wave. "How's Vienna?"

"Oh, it's lovely. It's been great to spend so much time with my dad. How's school been for you?"

"It's going. Cleo's still in her rough patch, but Antoinette says she should pull through soon."

"That's great! Hey, I have a few things for you. I can't wait to get back and give them to you."

"I can't wait either. You still have to open all your Christmas gifts." She laughs.

"I'll be back soon, I promise. If I'm not, I'll never be able to catch up on school!"

We both laugh at that. We talk and laugh some more, and I guess that's my ab workout for today: laugh until my stomach hurts. I show her my newly-clean room, and since she's already shown hers, she walks outside and shows off the street. The canals look ugly and she says they smell. If you want a good picture you have to get the light just right so they can't see the ugly look of the water.

We hang up when Mom calls me for dinner. She stands in the room and watches while I say goodbye to Rachel, and then comes over and sits on the bed with me.

"You seem to like Rachel a lot." She says.

"Yeah, she's great," I say.

"You know-" She laughs. "I was so afraid you wouldn't get along when we first said she could stay with us. We worried you may be judgmental of her."

I laugh. "No Mom, Rachel's awesome. I was a little jealous of her looks at first, but I'm over it now."

She examines me with a mother's eye. "Well, her mother was a lovely creature. California girl. You're lovely too. You've grown up a lot this past year." If I have, I haven't noticed. She clears her throat. "Rachel…" She picks her next words. "Has had a very hard life, despite what she shows you. I'm glad you've been so considerate of her. She's talked to me a little, and I must say… I'm glad you don't have to deal with what she has to deal with."

I swallow at the grave tone in her voice. She meets my eyes. "Laney, is there anything I could help you with?" She asks. Mom holds my gaze and twists her hands in her lap.

There are so many things in my life: Grojband, our song, Bryson, Rachel, and Cleo, but none of it I feel like I need help with right now. "No mom," I say. "I'm okay." She thinks, smiles, and then leans forward and kisses my cheek. We walk down to dinner together. Sometime after that, my parents begin to treat me like their adult daughter rather than the teen daughter. I wish I could have stayed the teen a little longer.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

They never told me. No one mentioned it to me. I found out the next day when the teacher read a note from the principal and I had to leave class. I was wroth and devastated. She made me so mad I became mad at myself. When all the anger was gone all I could think about was how hurt I was.

She was supposed to get better. It was a slump, a phase, a tough spot. I couldn't understand. It was an idea that danced out of my reach, like our god-forsaken lyrics for that stupid song.

I wish that I could go back and slap myself, point toward the door and say "Pay attention. This is the last time you'll ever see her. Go to her."

The truth is this: I don't remember the moment she stepped out of the room. It makes me feel horrible that I can't remember the last glance I had of her in perfect detail. I remember she kissed Antoinette's head, and I remember her sobs. "You don't understand, Laney!" She had said. Laney, my name, the last word I ever heard out of her mouth.

They say these people give out signs, cries for help. They're right, and I missed every sign. Every silent cry for help she gave.

"She's in a rough patch. She'll get out; we all do in the end." Only she didn't. She never did.

On February 9th, Cleopatra Syracuse took a gun and put a bullet through her skull. She was determined to go out of this world, to have it be the last thing she ever managed to do.

She succeeded.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"I hate her." Antoinette sobs as I rub her back and pull the heavy blanket over her shoulders again.

'You don't." I reassure her. She shakes her head and hides her face. If only her grief was as easy to hide.

"I do!" She bawls from inside the blanket. "How dare she leave me here, like this?! Didn't she care about me? How could she have given in?"

I pull her closer to me and rub her hair. She cries into my shoulder. My throat feels tight and my stomach is full of knots. I am angry too. Why did she think she could leave, and that we would get on without her? I swallow and put my head on Antoinette's shoulder to hide my tears. Breathe in, breathe out, I tell myself. I can't feel my heart anymore. The pain has spread from there and now everything from my gut to my elbow is in the kind of horrible pain the comes when you hold your breath and your body wants to crumble inwards on itself.

"I hate her, I hate her," Antoinette repeats as she shakes her head. Her lithe frame trembles under the crook of my arm. She wraps her icy fingers around my wrist and there is nothing in her eyes except tears.

It's hard for me to breathe. My throat squeezes in on itself, and grief crushes my chest. My throat feels dry. I try to swallow and end up choking back sobs while tears finally spill from my eyes. I wipe at my cheeks and check my hand. I expect to see the black streaks of mascara, but then I remember that I have waterproof makeup. The same waterproof makeup Antoinette gave me so long ago.

We curl up together and sit against the door to blockade everyone else. I don't remember where we are, only that I heard her cries from down the hall. We shut off the lights and cry in the dark for a very long time. It helps. She asks me to leave her alone. As I open and close the door, I see her close her eyes and fall asleep with her head near a collection of brooms and mops. The janitor's closet, I realize. A place to hide.

It's in the middle of the day. I missed almost four classes. I slip my phone into my hands and thumb to my contacts list. So many people I could call, so many friends I have. Cleo had lots of friends too, an entire group support system. Yet she never found the strength to reach out to anyone.

The names Corey Riffin, Kin + Kon Kujira, Rachel, and Mother Penn fill my favorites list. I click on Mom's contact and hear the phone start to dial.

Click. "Aello?" I hear her ask. She knows I haven't been in class today. I can tell from her voice.

"Mom." My voice cracks.

"Laney." She responds. Still hard, but with softer tones. "The school says they haven't seen you all day. Are you safe?"

"I-I, Mom can I come home?" The tears threaten to begin again. I wipe my lashes and feel the cracked skin underneath.

There is a long silence, and I hear the jingle of car keys. "I'm on my way." She says. "I'll call the school and tell them you're headed out ] early. We'll talk about your schoolwork later."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"I love you, Mom."

"Love you too. See you soon."

I don't know where my backpack is. I walk down the hall, and go to the front commons of the school, near where Rachel usually parks. There's a bench near the doors, so I sit down and curl up a little.

"Laney?" I turn around and see that all three members of the band stand a few feet away. I wipe my eyes so that they won't see the tears and stand up. Kon moves forward and puts his arms around me. He is big and bulky, and warm. I lean into him and feel two other pairs of arms wrap around us. They lean more around me than they hug me since it's hard for anyone to hug Kon. I smell hand sanitizer and smoke and know it's Kin. I smell grease and fur and Kon's warmth overtakes me. I smell leather and wind and reach out to put a hand on Corey's chest.

Corey leans forward, and whispers "We heard what happened."

I let out a broken sob, and they hold me tighter.

The door behind us opens, and one more pair of arms come around me. Wiry thin hair, and apples.

"Hi, Mom." I sniffle. Everyone backs off, and she examines me with concern.

"Oh, baby." She sighs. "What happened?"

I clear my throat, and Corey sets a hand on my shoulder. "Cleo… died yesterday.

Mom's face drops, and I know she feels sorry. She tucks me under her arm and says: "Let's go home." I nod, and I hug each of my friends before we leave. She holds up the keys as we near the car. "Do you want to drive?" She asks. I shake my head, and even though the front seat is open, I climb in the back and sit in the tiny middle seat, so I can feel little again. At the start of the school year I fit just fine, but now my knees stick up. I'm older now.

We drive home in silence, and when we get home Mom sits me down at the bar and begins to make cookies. She lets me pour in things like the flour and vanilla. We talk about nothing. She leaves a good part behind for the two of us to go at with spoons to eat our feelings up.

"What happened?" She asks.

"The bullet is what killed her," I answer.

"I thought she was better?" Mom pursed her lips as she nibbled on cookie dough. I shove a large spoonful into my mouth.

"I don't know." I shook my head, swallowed, and said "I hate her. A lot."

She looks out towards the window and says: "Me too." She shakes her head and begins to gather up the dirty utensils on the counter. "You should call Rachel." She says. I nod and reach for my phone. I walk out of the room as the sink begins to run and as Rachel picks up.

"Heyy!" She says, super savvy.

I start to say: "Hey Rachel", but I'm interrupted by her saying: "I'm not available right now, so leave a message after the beep."

I almost begin to cry again and hang up. I walk back into the kitchen. "She's not there," I say. I set my phone down on the counter as she glances over her shoulder.

My phone buzzes and I glance down and it's Rachel. I pick up. "Hello?" She asks, sounding unsure.

"Hey, Rachel," I say.

"Oh lords, you sound awful!" She exclaims. "What's happened?"

I swallow and chuckle. "Um, one of my friends died yesterday."

"Oh god."

"Yeah." I sniffle and clutch the phone to my ear. "She um, I guess her head got worse, and-"

"She killed herself?"

"Yeah. She did."

There's silence on the other end. I swallow in the absence of words.

"I'm so, so angry at her," I tell Rachel. "I can't believe she would – leave us like that."

"Hush," Rachel commands, and in my mind, she's not in Vienna, but in front of me, with her hands on her hips as she waits for the next blow. "You can't do anything but love her memory. We mustn't let anger consume us."

"She. Left. Us." I say through gritted teeth. Doesn't Rachel understand?

"I know." She reiterates. "And nothing you ever do will change that. She committed the ultimate selfish act, and I'm sorry. Laney, you need to know suicide is ultimate desperation, selfishness, and utter nothingness. In life, people need to feel… something."

I hear her swallow. I can tell she's sitting down. There's a lot of rustles on the other end. It sounds like a car.

"Don't hate her. It won't change what happened, and it'll only hurt you in the end. Love her memory and keep going."

I clear my throat and nod. "Okay," I tell her. "Okay, I'll try."

"Good girl." She tells me. "Gosh, I'm sorry though."

I close my eyes and whisper "Me too."

"Want me to come home?"

"Gosh, that'd be great. I wish you were home right now. I'm glad you love Vienna so much though."

"Vienna?" There's a smile in her voice.

"Did you leave?"

"Ya, I'm actually with dad right now. Oh, sorry, your dad right now."

"My dad?"

"Go open the front door."

I jump out of my seat and rush to the front door with my phone still in hand. I hear Mom's right, left click behind me as I undo the locks and fling open the door. Rachel climbs out of Dad's car as the door clangs against the door stop. I trip down the steps as I run to her, and fall into her arms, where I hear my own sobs echoed through the phone. She laughs as I untangle my fists from her blonde curly hair, and I can breathe normally again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs:
> 
> Me: Hits a Youtube Playlist. Also Me: Copies a list of songs into my story.
> 
> Bryson was based off a young man who tried to ask me out. The story of how that ended is hidden in Laney's story with Bryson.
> 
> That little bit on writing is how I got started. Just in case you are interested in going down a creative writing path.
> 
> Cleo is dedicated to a girl named Kaylee whom I knew who committed suicide.
> 
> The Janitor's closet they hide in is a reference to the book Speak.


	11. The Power of Prayer; The Rubicon(Rachel's Memoir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11. Wow, I don't even know what to say. Did you know the 'n' in the 7/11 logo isn't capitalized?
> 
> There are original lyrics in here that I wrote myself. The tune is a cross between All Too Well by Taylor Swift, Vanilla Twilight by Owl City, and Hero from the Starstruck movie album.
> 
> I'd like to shout out Iconic Bubbles and L.E-Rae.
> 
> Iconic Bubbles – Thanks for being so patient with me, my forgetfulness, and my picky asterisks! You were super impressive with how much you knew about grammar and word choice. Thank you for all your help! I hope we could work together again, and feel free to enlist me if you ever need some beta-read!
> 
> L.E-Rae – This beta reader, unfortunately, had some things come up in her life and had to stop betaing for me, but I still wanted to thank them so much for the work they did on this story! They were so helpful in making sure Rachel was a strong and uplifting character, and also helped me make sure they weren't coming off as too annoying! Super, super great help!
> 
> I don't own Grojband

Rachel approaches the wrapped copy of her book with the utmost reverence. Mom, Dad and I all stand crowded in the door way as she opens the letter affixed to the top of it. She recites it aloud for all us, but most of the letter notifies us of prices and deals the company offers. The personal notes from the editor are all in her book, which she opens with utmost care. She reads a few things off, and a couple are hurtful, but uplift her. She poured her soul into this, and it is beautiful.

In the back of the book is a list of possible companies that publish books like hers – in case. She decides to call each on the phone to narrow down her options. After that, she'll mail a copy to each so that she can see who will take it for the most.

I don't understand a lot of the things she talks about. The terms the book industry uses are so different from the music industry. Still, some of them make sense to me. A media platform, market rates, percentage of profits among others.

Rachel spends an hour on the phone and decides on a company called Weinefield which offers a 12% rate for the author. The numbers seem low to me since Grojband is paid a 26.6% rate. After I text Corey though, I learn that our number is higher than most other artists and bands. In the United States, it's common for artists to receive 6.6% of the money. Since I'm the producer and we're our own songwriters, we make more money than the average person in our business. That's a business move I myself proposed when we first started out. Who knew it'd make such a difference? On top of all these factors, we have a generous record label we go through. My dad helped me find it back when we looked to record our first studio album.

On the subject of our band, Rachel has a whole slew of lyrics she's decoded for our more upbeat pop-type song. I look over them, and can't find any faults, so I tell the band we're headed over and I drive to Corey's house. Mom sends us off with a large plate of cookies.

We arrive there before Kin or Kon, but Corey sits on the front step of his house to wait for us. His whole face lights up when he sees us, and he gives me a quick hug before he turns to smile at Rachel.

Rachel smiles back, and he lets us both into the garage. Kin and Kon show up about five minutes later as Corey reads through the lyrics with reverenced awe. "Wow." He says, breathless. "These are incredible."

"They are," I say as I reread over his shoulder. I put my hand on his shoulder. Kin doesn't look at anyone, only goes straight to the piano without a word.

"I can't wait to hear them." He calls as he sits down and plays a small intro.

"Is that for the other song, Kin?" I ask.

He nods his head. "I worked on it while Rachel was away."

"Here," Corey says. He picks up a recorder on the table and tosses it over his shoulder at him. "Record it and we'll work it later." Kin nods, and we all fall quiet as he plays. We look over all the lyrics and examine them for any final faults. The silence is helpful though because I can hear every note that Kin is playing, and they all break my heart. A ballad; this will be a ballad if the lyrics work well enough with it.

He keeps the song low, but there are moments where it climbs and builds. I glance up to gauge everyone's faces and see Rachel, who stares over at Kin, brow furrowed as she thinks. My only thought is "A great event is about to happen." I keep my eyes peeled for it.

After a while, Corey makes us all stand up and start rehearsal. Rehearsal helps. My fingers ache, but it helps ease the ache that lingers in my heart. Our big gig is now only a month away. For the first time, we play our song all the way through, and it is amazing, a crescendo of our souls. Rachel begins to cry at the end, but after such a long day I have no tears left.

It begins to rain outside as we finish up. When it rains in February, sheets of ice fall from the sky and cover everything. We rush outside and manage to pull Rachel's car into the garage. Another minute and we would have had to pick two inches of ice off the hood and windshield. Even so, ice covers it all. Corey leads Kin and Kon inside the house to call their parents. I start to follow, but then I hear a beep from one of the speakers in the garage.

I peek my head back in and see Rachel's sat down at the piano. She fiddles with the recorder Corey tossed Kin. She faces away as her long fingers struggle to turn it on and find the right track.

Silence, and then piano music. Kin's lithe fingers play ivory keys even though he is not present. He starts to build up the ballad, and I start to imagine the other instruments we could add. A freight train of pure emotion stops my thoughts as Rachel sings off a piece of lined paper:

\--"You pulled me down under, skin to skin.

\--Smiled before you forced me to give in.

\--Burned me and left me crying on the wayside.

\--I was clutching my bangs and thinking I'd lost my mind.

\--The red of the river tore into my soul.

\--The worst part was how you left me all alone."

There's an octave of high keys which I devised on my math homework. I can't believe this has come together so perfectly. I catch my breath.

\--"I thought we were friends, well I was wrong,

\--You put your hands places they didn't belong.

\--Silent agreements we made in the sun

\--Were broken as soon as the light was gone."

Rachel takes a deep breath. As for me, I have to remind myself to breathe as I wait for her to plunge ahead into the song.

\--"And I was falling, shattering like glass.

\--Twisting, and you started kissing;

\--Was 'no' too much for me to ask?"

\--"Pertinent, Persistent, Problematic,

\--Pretty wallflower,

\--Leaving the sting in the shower

\--Please watch the hour

\--Before you're losing your 'our'."

The music starts to climb. Like a little stepladder. Rachel's hand comes up to fix her curls before she belts out the prettiest notes I've ever heard.

\--"We crossed the Rubicon,

\--You're no longer my someone.

\--We lost it all.

\--You took my a, a, all!

\--My trials and their recompense

\--Customize my confidence.

\--In moments of silence, you haunt me, and I can't get away."

She's not the best singer. She spent years learning to write, not to sing. But I'm amazed by the sheer amount of power she can pack behind each phrase. She needs to learn better song annunciation, but there's so much emotion here that I'm amazed nonetheless. I clasp my hands to my cheeks in a mixture of shock, and sorrow, and amazement and my cheeks are wet. I guess I do still have a few tears left to spare for this, the prettiest song someone's blessed me to hear.

\--"Oh, oh, the Rubico-on."

I can hear her take a breath to steady herself, and then she continues.

\--"You asked for forgiveness,

\--Tried to fix your own mess

\--I laughed because I recognized how your lies would regress."

\--"Against cold bare stones in shades of blue,

\--The smell of new became the smell of you.

\--So the story goes, so they say.

\--No jewels could reclaim the price I paid.

\--For trusting you; for reasoning

\--Not going home, for continuing."

\--"When we crossed the Rubicon,

\--You lost me as your someone,

\--We lost it all when you took my a, a, all!

\--Now my trials and their recompense

\--All customize my confidence

\--In moments of silence, I can't scream, I can't sing,

\--I don't understand how your mark remains!"

Two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight counts she holds out that note, on a high Adele-type note. The kind that will echo onstage and reverberate into your skull. I feel like I'm about to faint.

\--"I'm forever looking for ways to escape,

\--To make sure I never have to break.

\--I have to watch the way I play.

\--Check all the friends that I gain,

\--Guard myself from the pain.

\--The sweat breaks out when I hear you

\--All alone, staring down the mirror,

\--It took years to learn to love myself

\--While I learned to be someone else.

\--My mind is filled with the scars of your plans.

\--All I know is that I never want to feel your hands

\--Again."

The music takes those low notes and scoops them up to turn them into a crescendo somewhere on Phantom of the Opera levels before there's a pause and Rachel can take her cue to start to sing.

\--"I will never forget the Rubicon,

\--Where you left me all by my lonesome.

\--I lost it all because you stole my a, a, all!

\--My trials and their recompense

\--Helped after you claimed my confidence!

\--All the time, every day, you haunt me,

\--And I, will never get… away."

She doesn't sing again. Kin finishes the song all on his own without any vocals, except for an interruption from Corey, who says: "Okay guys," at the end. Rachel sits still at the piano and wipes her eyes. Finally, she turns, swings her legs up over the bench, and stares straight at me. I don't know if she knew I was there or if she has to hide her surprise.

I walk over and look at the paper in her hands. "Here, take out Pertinent, Persistent, Problematic and it'll flow better."

She nods and avoids my eyes. "It's a beautiful song," I reassure her. "And you have a lovely voice."

"Thanks, Laney." She whispers.

I pull a box of tissues off of a nearby shelf and hand them to her. She wipes her eyes and blows her nose before she tosses it into the trash.

"Rain still going?" She asks. I nod.

"How are we going to go home?" She wonders.

"Well, you can still drive in the ice, but you'll need snow chains and the defroster on high."

"Sounds dangerous."

"It is. We could stay the night if you like?"

"I'd rather go home." She says. I understand and so I nod to show my support.

Corey's dad loans us snow chains, and we drive slow as we go home. Mom's left the porch light on in the dim light, and rock salt is already on the front walk to help prevent us from slipping. We run inside, take off our wet clothes, and she hands us hot chocolate. She leaves warm kisses on our cheeks and whispers that she's glad to have us home safe. We gather as a family in the living room and watch Rachel open her presents from Christmas time. She laughs with us, and there are four members of my family.

Rachel shows me all the things she brought from Vienna. Mom gets a pretty dress, and Dad gets a fancy watch, and she gives me a pretty little-carved gondola. For the first time in two months, I fall asleep to Rachel's music from her room. This time, both our doors are open, and the music thrums into my soul, massages my hurts, and guides me off to sleep.

Mom turns off Rachel's music later that night because she falls asleep with it on.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The school's delighted to have her back. Everyone waves and says: "It's good to have you back".

On the way home, Rachel and I spy a billboard that advertises the Battle of the Bands. We pull over and take a selfie. She puts it on her Facebook with the caption "It's almost here people! March 5th in Alms, live on the air at 8:00 Central Time! Tune in to see my cousin Laney and her band air two of their new songs!" My mom shares the post.

I receive lots of emails that ask me to schedule band gigs and promotional photo shoots. The whole band also gets lots of fan-mail to wish us luck. When I'm older and have the money to pay for it, I'll have a professional email filter that'll stop this problem. For now, I roll my eyes and click delete a lot.

Corey begins to freak out as the date grows closer. The calendar fills up with day-to-day band practices and meets grow longer as his anxiety mounts. Meanwhile, Rachel and I have our own special types of anxiety.

Rachel's comes in the form of roses, and cheesy cards, and boys who blush as they ask if she has a date for Valentine's Day. I can almost feel her mountainous guilt as she rejects each person as kindly as she knows how. Mine comes in the form of a single, deadly child's valentine.

"Will you be my valentine?" It reads. From Bryson. A little note is scribbled on as well: 'Can I pick you up for the fourteenth?' I show Rachel the card with a sigh and she pats my shoulder in sympathy. I don't know what to do. A solution presents itself though. Kon asks if I would like to spend the night together because he has similar problems. A bunch of fans have figured out he works at the animal shelter. With the looming concert and holiday, they've been hitting on him hardcore. He, like me, wants an easy way to let someone down. I tell Bryson how sorry I am that Kon already asked me, and Kon informs his fan circle he's already taken. For the holiday. We aren't desperate enough to pull off a fake relationship.

Since Kon and I don't exactly get along by ourselves well, we try and rope the rest of the band in with us. Kin's already has a date himself, who isn't Antoinette, so he bales. Corey has plans to pine after Rachel, who's condemned herself to the house with a box of chocolates for the night. We pull him along. On the 14th, we end up with this awkward threesome of Kon, Corey and I. We hang out at the café and buy milkshakes. Kon and I hand our money to Corey because he's the best talker and the two of us pick a quiet spot in the café corner.

Corey slides my shake in front of me and Kon's to him when he sits down. Corey remembered that I like chocolate, but he still buys a banana shake and guards it from me with a furrowed brow. Kon feasts on a strawberry shake with a goofy smile. I bought gifts for both of the boys: chocolates with little cards. Kon squints at his card and reads it aloud, which makes Corey laugh.

Corey leans back onto his chair and skims his card. I hold my breath in that special way you do when you wait for a miracle. He won't notice that I dotted all the 'I's' with little hearts, or that I signed it with love.

He doesn't, by the way.

Kon and I try to engage him and each other in conversation, but all our attempts seem to fizzle out after a few seconds. He is solemn.

Something I've been thinking a lot about is Cleo. The school announced her death on the announcements, like always, and her funeral is in a few days. The anger has fizzled out, and I understand what Rachel told me about. The hate doesn't change anything but me.

None of us have a car, so we're all picked up when it starts to snow again. Kon, who lives closest, leaves first with a handshake and a "Thanks for saving my butt, Laney."

Corey and I stand inside the double door area. We shift our weight atop soaked carpet where people have stomped snow off for hours. "Who's picking you up?" I ask as he flicks his wrist up to stare at the reflective surface of his watch.

"My dad." He murmurs as he focuses on bouncing the light of the street lamp onto the wall.

I shift my weight and examine my red boots. "At least you don't have to deal with Trina."

He nods. "I won't have to deal with her much longer at all. She was accepted to college."

"No way. Where?"

"Somewhere out of the province, I can't remember where. Dad told her she should do it."

"Let me guess, she wasn't sure about leaving because of _"

"Hunky Nik Mallory?" We say together and laugh. Nik Mallory is Trina's crush. When we were in middle school, we'd always use him to incite her in the hope she'd vent her feelings in her journal, so we could steal it. I fiddle with my scarf. I wish I'd brought a thicker jacket. Someone opens the door and I shiver. A heavy weight falls around my shoulders. I look up as Corey adjusts the collar of the jacket he just took off around my neck with a furrowed brow.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," I say. He waves me off.

"I brought two heavy coats." He laughs. "The way you dress Laney, I mean, you'd think that life in Canada would have taught you to dress warmer."

We laugh together, with the comfort of years between us. Then we stand side-by-side and watch the snow fall outside for a minute. "You dress like Rachel." He murmurs, too quiet. We watch a car speed past the café. Slush spits out from underneath the wheels and splatters against the window.

He sighs and rubs his face a little. I put my hand on his shoulder. He too has gotten taller this past year. I feel like I've shrunk. "Corey, I'm sorry," I mutter.

"Not your fault." He whispers.

"Corey," I say, and search for the words. "Rachel… she- she's not interested. She's not."

He sighs. "It must be me. What am I doing wrong? We've been friends all this time, and I don't understand."

"Corey, it's not your fault." I hush him. "Listen, Rachel, I don't know what's going on with her, but she's seen some real stuff, Corey. And she doesn't want people to come on to her. And you haven't been trying to be her friend; you've been trying to be her boyfriend." I put my arm around his shoulder as best I can and lean my head onto his arm. "I mean… back off. She doesn't want that right now."

"Well then when?" He growls, frustrated with himself.

"Never?" I whisper. He sighs and shakes my arm off. I swallow, and turn away, but then his hand falls on my shoulder, again.

"Sorry." He mutters. "I didn't mean to hurt you… pushing you away I mean."

I try to shrug. "It's whatever." I breathe. We lock eyes. Everything feels still. Almost like the ventilation has stopped working in this room. I gulp. His hand slides down my arm and his fingers graze my wrist. I move my hand to take his, and our fingers lock. He blinks, long and slow.

"What is this?" He mutters quietly. We move closer. I can smell banana on his breath. For a moment, I think we're going to kiss. I know he thinks it to because he slows his breath down and bites his lower lip for half-a-second. But without a verbal agreement, we both agree to miss each other. I put my chin on his chest with our hands still tangled between us. His other hand comes up to comb gently through my hair. I hear him breathe a sigh of relief. I breathe one too as I turn to look out towards the road.

Another car comes spitting through the slush. The grey watermarks climb higher on the glass. One more follows behind it and pulls into the parking lot. It parks in front of the diner, and my phone buzzes against my stomach. Corey lets me go. I look at my phone. "Here." A text from Mom reads.

"My mom's here," I tell him. He nods. I loop my arm through his for a moment, lean up and kiss him on the cheek. "Bye Corey," I say.

"Happy Valentine's day." He replies with a single, true smile. I go to take off his jacket, but he shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

"Keep it for tonight." He says. "You know where to find me." I nod. We untangle our arms, and I step out into the snow. I hold the hood out in front of my face and bend forward to avoid the knives of cold that slash my cheeks. Inside the car, Mom's already turned my seat warmer on. She hands me a mug of hot chocolate and checks my seat belt before we go anywhere. It is only on nights like these I fear a car crash. I watch the flashes of lights slide by on the car's paint, and almost fall asleep to the snowfall.

Once inside our home, Mom kisses my forehead and whispers: "Love you." I stumble up the steps and turn the corner into the upstairs hallway. A voice comes from the bathroom.

"You promised you wouldn't. You promised." A hiss, a cry of a voice. Rachel, but I tone I've never heard her take. I swear I don't mean to eavesdrop, but somehow, I find myself leaning towards the door.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh." She whispers. The sound slides under the door. I hear coins rattle before they all fall to the ground. "Get it together." She hisses. I hear her exhale.

"I promised I wouldn't hate you. I promised myself I wouldn't hate you. And I will get over this if it's the last thing I ever do."

I raise a knuckle to the door and tap. Her breath stalls.

"Rachel?" I call. "What's going on in there? Are you alright?"

The knob turns, and Rachel appears, leaning against the door frame. She holds up her phone with a smile. "Everything's fine Laney." She smiles. "I was watching a movie."

She's smudged the corners of her makeup. As she flicks her phone up, I see messages covering her screen. Her voice is off-key.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

She nods.

I force a smile and lean forward to hug her. She hugs me back, and I lean up and whisper: "Liar." She flinches, and I swallow.

"Don't hurt yourself. Please. You can talk to us. Mom or Dad or I. We're here." She nods and focuses on the ground. "Goodnight," I tell her.

"Goodnight," she says. She closes the door and I hear the shower start. I wrestle out of Corey's coat and my clothes in my room and fall asleep with my radio on. The last song I hear is 'A Pill in Ibiza', which has always been an ominous warning to us in the band. I shiver before I drift off, and not from the cold.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I've never been religious, cue backstory where my parents both didn't like church. Rachel goes every once in a while, so she tells me. On Christmas and Easter, for sure. Out of everyone in our household, Rachel's the most religious, but she traveled too much to make church work before she came with us. Now, she hasn't tried.

The church is cold when we first step inside. It's a stone structure that carries a draft no matter how much plaster is on the wall. It smells like flowers and an unholy stench of rot that may be the corpse. I take a stronger whiff. Yes, that's it.

Mom's walks in with me, but my right side feels bare with the cold and without Rachel to guard me. She's out of town for the weekend, stuck in a conference of things I don't understand for her book.

We pick an empty row near the front of the chapel. The Pastor comes by to thank us for coming. He asks us our names, asks whether we go to church, and Mom smiles and deflects the second question.

Cleo's mom is an overweight lady who, despite having packed on a few extra pounds, is quite lovely. She looks like she has a lot of baby fat. She wears grey, which helps give her the appearance of basking in moonlight. She could be a magazine feature if not for her devastated expression.

Her dad stands a short distance away and talks to someone who looks like a church official. He has a strong jaw and big ears. He looks like a Chinese man I saw speak in a documentary in science class once. Maybe that's where his family comes from. His eyes and nose are small and red from crying so much. These are the people who have to lay their daughter to rest today.

"Does this church believe in the afterlife?" I ask Mom. She shrugs, which indicates she does not know.

I leave the room and go to wander around the small church. I sing a little because the rooms have good echo and singing helps me relax. I guess everything sounds better at church.

I stand for a long time under a gruesome painting of the crucified Christ. To some, it may be glorious, but to me, it is only upsetting. I turn my head away and return to the chapel.

The room has begun to fill. People are everywhere. It's like I'm trapped at portrait day with my family again. Mom has dissolved herself into conversation with the other mothers. I go to stand by her, hoping a purpose will come to me in this quiet room.

"Here she is." Mom murmurs when I sit beside her. "This is Laney, my sunshine. I didn't know Cecilia, but Laney did. I'm here for her." Cecilia? That was her name?

"Yeah," I say. "We weren't close friends, but I tried to be there and…" The words freeze in my throat. I blubber like a fish, trying to figure out why they won't work.

One of the moms puts a hand on my shoulder. "That's quite alright, dear. We're all upset she's passed now." Passed? She took herself out, and they're making it sound like she fought a disease and fell through in her sleep.

I smile and nod and turn away again. I hear a faint quack, and my eyes flick all the way across the room, where I see a yellow fluff walking along the back of a pew. I rush over and discover Antoinette hiding as she watches Ames waddle along the wood.

"Hey," I say as I stand above her.

"Hey cuddle bug." She says. She sounds dehydrated. I fish in the pocket of my dress for chapstick. "Here," I say as I hand the tube to her. "It's brand new. You can keep it." I laugh a little. "Put it in your locka or somethin'." She smiles and sniffles. I pick Ames up and put him on her shoulder. "Come on. Let's put some water in you."

I guide her out into the foyer and we find a little water fountain on one side of a hallway. There are pieces of gum that clog the drain a little. Must be the holy gum.

I stand over her while she takes a long drink, and we lean against the wall together.

"Her name was Cecilia?" I ask.

"Gosh, I ain't called her that in years." Antoinette remarks as she holds her stomach. I wonder when the last time she ate was.

"How'd she get the name Cleo?"

"Her momma called her that. I elongated it." She says, enunciating every syllable in 'elongated'. She sniffles. "Mah poor Cleopatra Sugar-Shins."

I hug her. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not. I'm… gonna leave here soon." Antoinette doesn't meet my eyes. "My mom checked me into this rehab center. Hopefully, it'll help me calm down and recover." She holds up her shaky hands.

"Oh," I say. I sound hollow. "When will you be back? Can I write to you?"

"No. They don't let me have contact with friends. Only parents. I'll be back in May if everything goes okay." She tries to swallow. "I wanted to see her funeral before I go. Have you – Have you seen the body yet?" She asks with her lower lip trembling. I shake my head. I'm not sure I want to. Even so, Antoinette determines to show me. In a side room off the chapel, people walk in a long line to see the deceased. It smells like metal in here. My stomach rolls.

They picked out a lovely coffin. It's almost gold in color. Antoinette is the one who leads me up to it. I can't walk. When I see her, my heart doesn't make the jolt I thought it would. She looks lovely, much lovelier than I ever saw her in real life. Almost as pretty as Rachel. You could never tell when she was alive because she cried all her pretty away. They've curled her hair and it looks like it's true brown instead of that dead-dirt color. They've closed her eyes and put mascara on. The eyes that were always red are now covered with sparkly eyeshadow, invisible to the light. Her eyeliner has patterns, with dots scattering the expanse of her eyes. An off-red, summer canyon color graces her lips and looks almost natural. They corrected the tear damage with even layers of foundation and blush. The smallest of beauty marks graces her upper right cheek. She looks girlish, with a round face and her plaited lip. A memoir to how young she was when she left us. She even wears a girlish dress with a high waistline on her ribs. Her hands lay folded across her chest, nails white with little red dots. I swallow.

"Who did her up?" I ask.

"Dunno," Antoinette replies. Her eyes shift around the room. She held strong as she came in here, but she fears the human race. Her greatest fear is being hurt again. "Wish they could do me though. I'd like to look like her all the time."

"You're lovely no matter what," I reassure her. Metal rings and shaved hair included, Antoinette is still a picture. It was one of the first things I ever noticed about her.

I look back at Cleo. "Rachel once mentioned she considered mutilating herself so people would leave her alone."

Antoinette nods. "I'd believe it, poor girl. Ever heard of breast ironing?"

"No."

"Awful thing. Don't ever do that." She shakes her head, and I examine the coffin again.

Unlike in movies, the coffin has nothing in it except the corpse. Nothing even clutched in Cleo's hands.

"What was Cleopatra buried with?" I ask.

"Gold, rubies, and riches untold," Antoinette replies. She brushes Antoinette's hair with her fingertips and leans down to kiss her forehead. The nostalgia is stifling. "Wish you could see yourself now, Sugar-shins. You wouldn't want to leave us here."

Her voice breaks, so I put an arm around her shoulder and lead her away. She snags a bunch of tissues on the way out.

"You're getting to be a little more comfortable with people," I mention as we weave our way around a group of women.

"Still have my falling-outs," Antoinette mutters. "Your cousin gave me a little talking-to at your party, and I thought: 'Hey! She can do it.' Gave me goals. Managed to talk to your friend Kin the other day."

"You better watch Kin. He… he has a fancy for you." She nods.

"I know, and I know you have your hopes, but Laney, I'ma stop you right there." She stops in the aisle and pulls me to face her. "It'll never come to pass, Juliet. He's gonna grow up and I'm gonna grow up, and I'm sure he's nice but I have some real crap to deal with. And I'm not there." She laughs. "I swing the other way, cuddle-bug." We resume walking.

Something tickles the back of my brain. "What did Rachel say to you, at my party?"

"Shared her story and thoughts." Antoinette's lip ring catches the light as she turns to smile. I furrow my brow, and her smile drops. "Oh, she not tell you?"

I try to shrug it off. "It's no big deal. She has lots of things she doesn't tell me, because it isn't my business."

Antoinette stares for a while, and then brushes my bangs out of my face. "Dunno who she's fooling." She says. "It's obvious you're growing up."

We sit with my mom during the ceremony. They wheel her out, all pretty, and the audience rises as she passes by. They invite everyone up for one last look at her. Mom and I go up hand-in-hand, but there are too many people for Antoinette. She stays behind.

"Oh." Mom says as we make it up to the front. "She's lovely."

I swallow. "I didn't know her when she looked like this. I only knew her crying." A strong hand lands on my shoulder, and her dad leads me away.

"Miss, what's your name?" He asks.

"I'm um, Laney. Penn."

"Well, I heard you Laney, and I wanted to say I knew she was going through rough times. We got the story from her, and we tried everything but nothing helped. I know what you meant because when they wheeled her out I didn't recognize her either." He gazes back at the coffin, filled only with his daughter's stiff body. "For weeks the only makeup she put on she cried off no matter how waterproof. She'd eat her feelings and throw them back up again. She didn't want to be without us but she couldn't have us in the room either. The boys wouldn't quit, as you know, and they never got evidence to convict." He swallows.

"I didn't know her like this. I only knew her hurting, and little. So, I want to thank you for remembering her alive, but remind you that it's better for her to be gone now." He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and blows his nose. "I'm sorry." His voice is shaky. "I don't remember where I was going with this."

"It's okay." I say to him. I don't understand, but I don't want to say anything. He smiles, and nods, and we all sit down for the service.

I don't go to many funerals, so I guess it's about like every other funeral. They read her obituary, and have people stand up to talk about her. Her dad stands up and shares memories. How she loved carrot cake and would always steal her mother's mascara. Her mother recalls Christmases they had together and talks about how Cleo loved red. She also shares her thoughts on being the mother of such a vivacious young woman.

They don't mention her assault.

The bishop is the second-to-last person to stand up.

"I have been a bishop for twenty years, and yes, I have attended many funerals. The saddest ones are always those when the people leaving the world were too young to leave us in the first place. It is always saddening to watch others leave those people who are most precious to them behind. I remember how my heart filled with joy as a young man when my father spoke at the funeral of my grandmother. He reminded us all that funerals, while they celebrate the dead, are for the living. We gather to remember someone loved in the hearts of each of us.

"I would now like to remind this people of our God, who is watchful and mighty over us all. He knows the hurts of your heart over this calamity and will wash our souls in his blood at the last day. There will be an afterlife and the doctrine and gospel of god is true. I know even now that Cecilia is being lifted up into God's arms and he is washing her hurts in the blood of redemption. Dear brothers and sisters, it is okay to mourn. But may we all remember that Cecilia is in a better place."

The pastor sits down, and Antoinette stands up beside me. She walks down to the pulpit, straightens up, and turns her body so she can watch the people behind her. People in the crowds exchange glances. Some smirk and others let out breaths. She pulls the microphone down and takes a deep breath.

"They asked me to speak on Cleo as well." She starts. "But I didn't feel like sitting up here to watch all you judge me because I don't look like you." She twists one of her nose rings. "Cleopatra was my best friend for most of my life. I knew her before she was Cleo and back when she was Cecilia." She snorts. "By God, I hate that name." She wipes her eyes. "Cleo was one of the best people I ever knew because she refused to show herself for anything other than what she was. And what she was was a beauty child. She was tantalizing and loved the feel of morning dew on her feet and the scent of dirt. She liked to grow things like corn, which I never understood because I hated corn."

She wipes her eyes, turns to look at the bishop, and leans back towards the microphone. "I'm so angry at her for leaving. She wasn't supposed to leave me, and I refuse to believe her death was anything but a murder. She held the gun, but others pulled the trigger. I'll never be able to take her to go see that movie Friday night. We'll never be able to find out who wins the basketball tournament together. She won't have a chance to learn physics next year and the last we'll ever see of her is her corpse. Death may be a relief to her, but I hate her for leaving the rest of us to pine. What can I do though? She was never gonna hide herself like the rest of us." Antoinette sets a hand to her cheek and begins to sob. She pushes the microphone away and tries to recompose herself, but it is too late. She hurries off the pulpit and toward our row.

Mom makes it to her first and encircles Antoinette in her arms. I sit there and rub Antoinette' back to try to draw her sorrow out of her. The church sings 'Nearer My God To Thee', and they close the casket. The men wheel the casket out to the church graveyard, where a six-foot-deep grave waits. They lower her down, the bishop blesses the grave, and everyone throws in a handful of dirt. Antoinette leaves early, and after she is gone Mom and I agree to leave.

As we tromp back to the car, the February snow sticks in our shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs:
> 
> That song is called Rubicon; Rachel's memoir. It is written about Rachel and dedicated to anyone who has ever suffered an attack or any sort of emotional trauma. As of the time I release it, it will be protected under creater's copyright and also under Wattpad restrictions. All Rights are Reserved, you will need to request written permission if you want to use the lyrics anywhere.
> 
> Cleo's entire funeral scene is a conglomeration of the funerals I remember. My Aunt Cathy was one, then my great-grandma and great-grandpa were another, and also a family friend who succumbed to illness before she could marry her girlfriend. It was pretty tough for me to write.
> 
> The religion I wrote of isn't based off of any religion. I'm from the Mormon faith, but they don't really talk like this…. I wrote about basic Christian beliefs and I'm not trying to demote a particular sect at all.
> 
> The reason they sing 'Nearer My God to Thee' is because that's the Titanic song.
> 
> Everyone throwing in a handful of dirt is a reference to Carrie Underwood's song Two Black Cadillacs even though I know people do that normally. I just had her song in mind when I wrote that and that's where it came from.
> 
> **One deleted lyric from the two songs here is 'slush spitting under wheels as we made our deal'. It's a derivative from Laney and Corey's moment in the restaurant.**


	12. Big Gig; The Moment I Fell in Love(Laney's Memoir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Chapter 12… wow.
> 
> So, I saw my first episodes of Grojband since I was about nine or ten today. Crazy, right? It's kinda shocking me how different this is from the original story. Like, I haven't included any of Corey's catchphrases and Kin and Kon are wilder than I remember. I feel like I captured Laney pretty well because a lot of the time she's just going with the flow, but I've removed a lot of her anger. It's pretty safe to say I wrote these kids way older than they are in the show.
> 
> The new song's tune introduced here is a combination of Can't Help Falling In Love by Hailee Reinhart, Vanilla Twilight by Owl City and Eyes Open by Taylor Swift. I'm unable to mark bold in the format, but there are three other formats listed on Fanfiction.net and Wattpad that should help make it more clear who is speaking.
> 
> I'd like to shout-out OnihumoExplosionsInc and ThatRollingStone today.
> 
> OnihumoExplosionsInc - If anyone asks, I wasn't dancing in excitement when you first pointed out that Laney is an unreliable narrator. Totally wasn't. That's a secret between you and me. I'm so grateful for all your enthusiastic feedback and how you were able to find things in the story that I'd written and waited for months for someone to find. I was so happy when you were able to point out plot holes and odd characters because this was my baby for so long and I was so excited to see it finally take flight. Thank you so much!
> 
> ThatRollingStone - Your name always reminds me of the Flintstones and it makes me smile. I love it. I think my most favorite thing you ever said to me was "Send the next one right away!" I almost cried when I read that, and I showed my family and it made me so happy I couldn't even do any editing because I was shaking so hard. Thank you so much for bearing with an author frazzled to the bone. I'm so, so grateful for you.
> 
> I don't own Grojband

Rachel is about to turn eighteen. I ask mom what I can do to help plan for her special day, and together we hatch a plan. We can't hold a party because it's hard enough to hold people off Rachel without an opportunity being handed to them. Instead, we make arrangements to fly to Edmonton for the day and go through Edmonton Mall. There are tons of activities to do there, from roller coasters, waterparks, museums and other things. We went there when I was a kid for a weekend. I use money I've earned from band gigs to call ahead and place an order at a custom jewelry store. They say they'll ship my order to my house before the date we're there, and that's fine with me.

The day of the big gig draws nearer. Corey arranges for a bus to take us and our instruments to Alms. I start to post lots on social media to reconfirm we'll play live and to try to hype people up. Expected numbers come back in, and thousands of people in both the US and Canada will watch the live broadcast. Afterward, the entire show will be available for reruns on Netflix and Hulu. They'll upload a video on YouTube exactly one week after the initial broadcast. Capitalism, at it's finest.

Corey freaks out when my dad catches a cold, even though it's a pretty normal happenstance. He doesn't want any of us sick when we're onstage. It's important we're at our epitome because everyone will pitch in to sing this one.

The more Corey stresses, the more the rest of us stress. Each of us starts to suffer from instrument injuries. Corey overdoes his voice and slices his hand into a bloody mess when he slams down on a guitar string the wrong way. Then, he cuts his knees open when he slides across the floor in a choreography stunt. Kin dislocates his middle finger on his left hand and his pointer and fourth fingers on his right hand and has back pain from all the long practice hours. Kon breaks one of his drumsticks, which knocks him in the head and bruises his hand and left temple. In the same practice, he passes out and falls into a drum stand, which bruises his side. I suffer from dry skin, sore shoulders, migraines, and rashes on my arms and on my neck where my guitar and its strap rub.

We all get so stressed our parents put their heads together and take us out of school the week that leads up to the show. Trina throws a fit when Corey's dad announces this to their family, but he's the one who'll appear on TV, not her. So, she goes to school and he stays home and recovers from his ailments. We mostly just sit in bed and hold group phone convos where we make last-minute note changes and change our stage choreography over and over. Mom starts to take my phone away at six o'clock so I can try to rest. Mom helps me put anti-crack stuff on my hands each night, when they are so numb I can't feel them.

We still try new chords, numbers, key changes, and more in the last days before March 5th. Once done, we're left with a masterpiece. So beautiful we all sit down and have a group cry when our work of six months finally comes to a close.

In preparation for the show, Rachel does my nails again. To think these two brilliant songs began with a simple riff she put on my nails! It's unfathomable.

March fourth it snows. We're buried in three feet of snow, and my dad goes out and plows the walk twice. The band and I keep in touch until a cell tower falls down. I go to sleep weak with anxiety: Will we even be able to make it to Corey's house to go to Alms?

I don't sleep well and wake up far too early. Mom's already up though and through her mother magic knows I am up too. She makes both a mug of too-hot hot chocolate and a thermos of coffee to help keep me awake. The world may be asleep, but not me. She packed a bag for the road that includes lots of soda pop, 5-hour energy bottles, and snacks since she knows I won't be able to keep much down. We eat breakfast together in silence. I go through my email to try and calm my nerves. It hasn't updated since last night, but I still go through and delete tons of junk mail from the past few weeks.

The bus comes at ten o'clock. Dad wakes up at nine. Rachel begins to function by 8:45. She does my hair and makeup for today. Nothing too dramatic since there will likely be people to touch me up at the show.

Sometime in the night the snowplows came and got most of the roads. I almost sob with relief. Dad warms up the car thirty minutes ahead of schedule because we don't know how many delays there will be. I wear black thermal leggings and Corey's warm jacket, so I can remember to give it back to him. Even so, the cold bites as I hug mom and Rachel, grab my guitar and rush for the car. Dad sits in the front seat where he rubs his hands together.

We still go slow on the roads despite the cleared snow and the sun. We're stopped twice because people have slid off the road and traffic has to be redirected. Even with these problems, we make it to Corey's house fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. The bus is already there though, and people have gathered to say goodbye. I haul my instruments out of the car and to the door of the bus before I peek inside. It's wide and roomy with electric wall docks where we can plug in our phones. Six benches/couches with rough carpet cushions line the interior, and several album posters hang on the walls. The bus is lined by a shelf with a wire to keep things from falling out. Corey looks too tired to be nervous; he lays face-up on one of the couches in the bus as he tries to keep awake. The bus man helps me put my instruments and the guitar up on a shelf in the bus. I'll have to make one of the boys to help me bring it down if we decide to rehearse. Five minutes before we are set to leave, Kin and Kon appear, bleary-eyed and exhausted. They must not have slept very well last night either. I give them each a sip of my thermos.

We all match without meaning to. Black jeans and navy blue tops. Mine is the only form-fitting one though, and it's a slightly lighter shade. Corey has a tank top on because the last time we did a gig on a stage this big he sweat through his shirt and the BO stains wouldn't come out. The other two boys have decided to wear their band gear shirts with "Grojband' on the front of it.

I hug my dad before I go. He waits in the car until we've all gotten on the bus and left. I wave to him as we pull out, but I don't think he sees.

There is no rehearsal on the bus. We all put on eyeliner and massage our achy hands. Corey downs cough syrup and water like a boss, and Kin lies down flat to try to ease the ache out of his back. Sometimes he'll ask for one of us to please step hard on his back. We help him apply heat pads every once in a while as well. Most of the trip to Alms, we sleep. It's usually an hour away, but with the snow, we arrive there after two. Corey has stressed too much at this point though and does nothing but nod when he hears the news.

In Alms, television crews have already set up shop. They focus a lot on older, bigger, or cooler bands, but we still receive a considerable amount of airtime too. We're considered to be 'rising in popularity' because we sing different types of music and we appeal to people our age. They want to talk to Corey most of all, the face of the band.

The stage crew confiscates our phones, which sucks but whatever. A makeup crew runs around to tweak our appearance to our likings. They paint electric blue flames on the sides of Kon's eyes. One of the girls in the crew focuses on me particularly. I think she's the real artist of the bunch, just judging off how she acted. Artists are a special brand and there's a lot of us. Sometimes we don't understand each other, but once you know us you can spot us everywhere. We see colors where other people are blind and we hear songs where other people are deaf. That girl saw a story in my face like Rachel can see a story materialize on paper, and she manipulated it for about ten minutes before she twisted my head back and forth and nodded her approval.

We rehearse some. We occupy the wait to 8:00 with stress and waiting. I don't understand why they wanted us to be here so early when all we do is sit around and worry. I pen some new lyrics while Corey explains our choreography to the stage tech. I'm needed so we can run through our performance plans once or twice, but they're smart people who have been doing this for a long time. Corey points to an area as if we were onstage and describes what effect he wants. Kin stands nearby to give him tips. The stage crew knows what we need. When Corey, Kin, or Kon make the mistake of sitting too close to me, I talk their ears off in my worry about whether it's cheesy or not to say 'Make your mark or play your part. The only limit is the length of your heart."' Kon tells me that it sounds like a chorus line.

We've started to separate into roles in our band, I've noticed Corey is the showman who wants to learn how to charm our audiences. Kin figures out how to make his wildest dreams come true with special effects and crazy lights. I've slowly, slowly started to turn into a songwriter. That's such a weird thought, that I've become really good at a hobby I never thought I could do. And Kon has started to serve as the realist who glares Corey, Kin and I down when our ideas start to go a little too far. Even now, he stands guard by Corey and Kin as Corey speaks with enthusiasm to the stage crew.

We buy sandwiches from a café across the street for lunch. At three o'clock they finally give us the lineup for the show. We're twelfth in line and we'll premiere around 8:45-9:05 if everyone else goes to schedule. We'll have time to sing both of our new songs, which will be available on iTunes and Spotify among others after the show as Live Tracks. The Studio songs will come out as soon as I can schedule a time for us to go in to polish up the demo tracks we've made so far.

Rubicon is the song we will play second. We don't want to go out with a bang; we want to go out with a lasting impression on all who listen to it. Rubicon is the song for the job.

The sky grows darker and darker, and at 7:55 the shows begin. That way by the time 8:00 rolls around they'll have added in the commentary and ads and everything will be fine. Live videos aren't actually live. They line us up to the stage in the order we go on, and most of the bands begin to lounge. I stress and bite all my nails off until Corey knocks my hands away from my mouth and gives me a stern look. He pulls his beanie down over his eyes and goes to sleep as they introduce the show.

Within the first ten minutes, we have our first major failure. One of the band's guitar strings snap, and they walk out in the aftermath in tears. I shouldn't worry about this problem since I assessed each of our band's instruments myself, but my fingers run over my bass guitar anyway to make sure everything is secure.

Some people are crazy and we can hear them yell from outside. Others are milder. Corey and Kin are the ones who decided how we would act. Wild and alive for our first number, quiet and soulful for the second number. The audience will love the two sides of us. Peaceville always has.

My stomach begins to knot itself as six, then seven, then eight goes. There are twenty to thirty-five bands in all, so we are high up in the runnings, sort of. I tell myself not to stress and try to quell my fear. Corey slumbers on. Kon begins to bite his drumsticks and Kin does a bunch of breathing exercises to cope.

I run to grab a water bottle before we go on. Corey wakes up and we pass it around to make sure we're good and hydrated before we cross the Rubicon.

Eleven goes on, and the crew members begin to talk to us to try to quell our fears. They do more harm than good when they say things like: "It's gonna be okay!" "You're gonna do great!" "Don't worry if you make a mistake!" What does help is when someone puts their hand on each of our shoulders as we walk out, connects eyes with us, and says "Good luck."

Group 11, whoever they were, exits the opposite way we come in. The stage is in a blackout while we assemble. It takes thirty seconds, while the cameras focus on the announcers or a commercial break.

The broadcast takes place in an area that looks like a sports stadium. Maybe it is, I don't know. Thousands of rows of seats face us, and you can see the black sky, starless, behind the bright lights.

A tall, lanky character counts down from the side of the stage as we take our places on stage. "5… 4… 3… 2… 1." His voice cuts off and we turn our attention to the cameras. The lights come on and I am blinded by the sheer volume of it all. Thousands of people are here in the arena. Thousands more watch it from home. The camera people rush up and hand us each a microphone. Microphone stands are already in front of each of us. They point upstage towards five people who sit and face us. The announcers.

"What are you called?" Someone asks over the speakers.

"We are Grojband!" Corey yells, pumped-up. The crowd cheers with him. Some are fans, others will be after tonight.

"And what are your names?"

"I'm Corey." Corey introduces himself, then points to me.

"And I'm Laney."

"I'm Kin."

"And I'm Kon."

"And how old are you all?"

"We're all sixteen except for Corey. He'll be sixteen in a few months." I supply.

"How many numbers will you guys play tonight?"

"Two." Kon answers.

"May we have their names?"

Kin takes that question. "We've named the first one: 'The Moment I Fell in Love.' And the second one we've named 'The Rubicon."

"So, these are your original songs?"

"Yes."

"Who plays what?"

Kon rattles off a quick drum roll and then speaks into the microphone. "Corey does our lead vocals, though you're gonna see Laney show off her pipes a lot tonight. He also plays lead guitar. Laney's our bassist, Kin plays keyboard and I rule our drums." He spins his microphone in his hand.

"Alright. Without further ado, we wish you luck." The disembodied voice says. Corey flashes a thumbs up to the far-off judge's table. My fingers tighten on the bass strings. I will not throw up. I will not throw up.

The stage blacks out, and then Corey counts us in. Red spotlights light us all up. We stow our microphones before Kon starts to sing the opening lyrics.

\--"Green, Brown, Blue,

\--I fell for your eyes through.

\--My walls are collapsing, so I fall in love with you."

Slow, steady. He draws out each note. I haven't mentioned it, but Kon, as sloppy and big and awkward as he is, is a charmer onstage. People love the idea of a teddy bear in our band. Those are the only lyrics he sings this entire song, so he rules them. People begin to scream offstage. I try to take deep breaths as I play. Kin starts to pull his microphone off the stand. As our drums kick back in full force and the bright lights come on, Kin walks to the center of our formation and begins to lay down a sick, fast rap.

\--"You're so darn oblivious but I can't go on alone.

\--This seed that I sprouted has done nothing but grown.

\--Realization hits like a bullet hits bricks;

\--You and I, we do nothing but mix.

\--I throw you the beat, you pitch the song.

\--Wherever they meet, they always get along.

\--I forget to breathe half-the-time,

\--Whenever you start laying down all Your! Sick! Rhymes!"

The crowd rises up and begins to cheer. The stage has lightened up. Corey steps forward and glances sideways at me. I step up to the microphone too, ready when he is, always. He takes a deep breath and begins:

\--"I watched you grow in a way your mother didn't.

\--One day you were a little girl, the next one of the prettiest."

The crowd screams, and the chorus begins. Corey plunges headlong, every note strong and sharp and clear.

\--"Somewhere between the bridge and the chorus,

\--Above the water, twirling to moonlight sonatas.

\--You sang the refrain and I got the motif.

\--We sounded like the angels above.

\--That was the moment I fell in love."

He backs off, and I seize the microphone. My stomach churns for another moment as there's a short bridge, but then the spotlight comes on me too and so I let it all out and sing.

\--"There's always been swords running into me.

\--But for some reason lately, you've been my enemy."

My stomach stops churning and my head clears. I almost gasp in relief, except we're on a stage in front of literally thousands of people. Luckily, this is where Corey and I start to switch out, so I don't have to sing at the moment. Corey steals the next two lines:

\--"You've been slipping away and I don't know how to stop it.

\--This plane of my feeling's suddenly a rocket."

He did well. I know he was having trouble rattling off 'plane' as fast as he needed to. He must have practiced that without us. I take a deep breath before I spin the song back towards him:

\--"Sitting under the bleachers, giggling with our secrets.

\--On the corner of the concrete, we'd started to frequent."

He takes over as he always does. A flawless change from one person to the next. He and Kin are geniuses.

\--"My heart started racing, running on pistons."

\--"The area between us can't be measured by distance."

\--"We turned toward your house to begin the exodus."

\--"Your hand in my hand, the pressure of emphasis."

That's the second chorus. When I first started to sing this song I would always accidentally jump straight into the bridge, but now I know to lower the microphone and take several deep breaths before I have to sing again.

\--"I can still feel the weight of your jacket round my shoulders."

\--"The warmth of your kiss will never grow colder."

This is it. This is what success feels like. Singing a duet with Corey, on a stage that millions are watching. Corey and I move closer together onstage, as we rehearsed. He rips up his guitar as we wait for Kon's signal to begin the chorus. His microphone is tucked under his armpit as he shreds his strings. I only get one line in this chorus, so I prepare to belt it out like a pro.

\--"Somewhere between the bridge and the chorus,

\--Above the water, twirling to moonlight sonatas.

\--You sang the refrain and I got the motif."

\--"We sounded like the angels above."

I hold that note like a lifeline and draw it out as long as Kin's keyboard will let me. It reverberates in the microphones. Corey blinks in shock, but he recovers.

\--"That's the moment I fell in love."

There are a heart-stopping four counts where we orchestrate a symphony of notes. Somewhere here, tucked into the seams, is my nail riff, followed by Corey's riff. My ears strain to hear them because it wouldn't be right to play this and not remember where it started. Right before Corey breaks in the third verse, I hear it. The pattern of high and lows that Rachel set into motion, first on my fingertips, and then into our lyrics. I swallow and thank her in my heart.

\--"You locked the door behind you and turned 'round to face me.

\--We stood on the edge of what was no longer your property."

\--"You said 'I guess this is it' I said 'I suppose it is'.

\--You said 'I'll be darned if I let you slip away again.'"

Pause to breathe, I think. Oxygen to brain cells is a good thing. They like it for some reason. Oh lord, please don't let me pass out on this stage. Corey and I stand and face each other on the stage as part of our choreography. Soon, he'll take my hand and spin me out like we saw the ballroom kids do at Rachel's dance concert in December. I wait.

\--"I kissed you right there, out on the steps."

\--"My family was behind you, collecting their bets."

He seizes my hand even though we still have a chorus to finish. He spins me under his arm and then we present ourselves to the audience. I spin back towards him and we enter a pretty dip as Kon signals the final part of the song with a neat drum and keyboard solo. Corey and my instruments are slung around our backs to be out of the way as much as they can be. We should have arranged with someone to come and grab them from us.

We sing the next part together:

\--"Somewhere between the bridge and the chorus.

\--Above the water, twirling to moonlight sonatas.

\--You sang the refrain and I got the motif

\--We sounded like the angels above.

\--That's the moment I realized I was in love."

We take less than a second to breathe. He sets a hand on my shoulder and we sing the last lines while we look at each other.

\--"Stuck in perfect harmony."

\--"Killing our duet."

\--"Spinning in the living room."

\--"Listening to our cassette."

\--"You sang the refrain, and I got the motif.

\--We sounded like the angels above.

\--I know exactly when I fell in love."

We're supposed to lead out the song with backup vocals, but Kin and Kon take over for us while we catch our breath. Good God, I've played gigs before, but this is something else. Sweat pours from every pore in my body. I'd flash them a grateful look, but we're kind of on National TV. It's embarrassing enough I'm huffing like a fairy-tale wolf, with my clothes sticking to my skin.

Corey set his hand on my shoulder again. "You good to sing next song?" He asks.

"I thought you were singing it?" I gasp. He shakes his head.

"It's your cousin's song. I'll do it on the album track, but you deserve this moment. For her." He scratches the back of his head. "Besides. You've done all the work for it." I take a deep breath and consider his words, and then nod.

"Okay." He laughs, and I laugh with him. "I mean, we may crash and burn cause I haven't practiced like you, but…"

He cuts me off. "You'll do great." He flashes me that smile. The confident one that curled my toes when I was younger. I smile back. "By the way." He gasps quickly. He smirks a little and leans forward. "You're gonna love how hot you look when you get to see yourself."

I gape like a fish out of water and look down at my clothes, where sweat has soaked through in several places. He thinks I look hot? In this? Behind me, the first song ends.

I run through the lyrics in my head as we all take a quick drink, even if I know them like the back of my hand. I helped create them, helped Corey memorize them. Kon dumps a water bottle on his head, which helps ease some of my nerves as I laugh. The show must go on though. We hurry back to our spots after a short thirty-second break. Corey opens with the soft ballad tones for Rubicon. The song has not changed much since Rachel sang it. We've added guitars and drums of course, but it is still the crisp package Rachel put her stamp on.

"This song has a quick dedication attached to it," I tell the audience. "It's for my cousin Rachel Barabossi, who helped pen a lot of the lyrics for these songs tonight. You guys should all check out her book when it comes out."

I can't say anymore because Kon has started the build-up to the lyrics, and I need to take a deep breath. I hope that Rachel heard that on the TV and knows I've poured in my thank you for all she's done since she came. She deserves that, at least. I could never have asked for a better friend, sister, or companion. I clutch the microphone tight and press my lips against the mesh wiring. My lipstick comes off with it. I feel grown up on this stage, which is a scary feeling. I feel tall, and I feel empowered. This is why I spent so much work on this; so I could see it blossom into this beautiful sight. I take a deep breath.

\--"You pulled me down under, skin to skin.

\--Smiled before you forced me to give in."

This isn't the best spot, but it never occurred to me I don't know where this lyric came from. I push my hair back. The red strands are so sweaty they dangle in soft curls behind my shoulders.

\--"Burned me and left me crying on the wayside,

\--I was clutching my bangs thinking I'd lost my mind.

\--The red of the river tore into my soul.

\--The worst part was how you left me all alone."

Rubicon, which comes from the Latin word for red. Red like my hair, red like the physical river itself. That makes sense. But could there be more behind that line?

\--"I thought we were friends,

\--Well, I was wrong.

\--You put your hands places they didn't belong.

\--Silent agreements we made in the sun

\--Were broken as soon as the light was gone."

I move the song to my own liking, and walk around the stage, and wave to the crowd when I try to catch my breath. At one point I whirl around to spot the boys and make sure they're okay. They look flabbergasted.

\--"And I was falling, shattering like glass.

\--Twisting and you started kissing.

\--Was no too much for me to ask?

\--Pretty Wallflower, leave the sting in the shower.

\--Be sure to watch the hour before you're losing your our.

\--We crossed the Rubicon.

\--You're no longer my someone.

\--We lost it all.

\--You took my a-a-all!

\--My trials and their recompense,

\--Customize my confidence.

\--In moments of silence, you haunt me and I can't get away."

The song builds more now on the second verse. It hits hard right where the deep lyrics need it the most. And I know exactly where I need to hiss out the annunciation to pull that feeling of 'my heart has been ripped out of my chest' out of the audience.

\--"Against cold bare stones in shades of blue, the smell of new became the smell of you!

\--So the story goes, so they say. No jewels could reclaim the price I paid. 

\--for trusting you; for reasoning. Not going home, for continuing.

\--When we crossed the Rubicon, you lost me as your someone.

\--We lost it all when you took my a-a-all!

\--My trials and their recompense customize my confidence.

\--In moments of silence, I can't scream, I can't sing. I don't understand how your mark remains!"

I don't mean to, but I start to cry. I guess the heartbreak behind this song finally got to me. I wonder what took it so long. This song is pure, 100% heartbreak. It's pain and agony. It's never being able to go back. So, with tears running down my face, I sing the last verse:

\--"I'm forever looking for ways to escape.

\--To make sure I never have to break.

\--I have to watch the way I play.

\--Check all the friends that I gain.

\--Guard myself from the pain.

\--The sweat breaks out when I hear you.

\--All alone, staring down the mirror.

\--It took years to learn to love myself.

\--While I learned to be someone else.

\--And my mind is filled… with the scars of your plans…

\--All I know is I never want to feel your hands. Again."

I wipe the sweat off my forehead as the drumbeat takes me up, higher and higher and higher. Whereas before there were high-pitched voices that repeated: "yeah I'm in the Rubicon." And "we crossed the Rubicon", there are no background vocals to guide me into this nail-biting tidal-wave of agony. Finally, I slide across the stage and belt out the crashing words:

\--"I will never forget the Rubicon, where you left me all by my lonesome.

\--I lost my all because you stole my a-A-All!"

\--Deep breath. Wipe the tears away.

\--"My trials and their recompense. Helped after you claimed my confidence!

\--All the time, every day, you haunt me, and I will never get… away."

The stage light leaves my face to travel over the miles of the crowd with their arms in the air. There is something satisfying about working hard on art and seeing everyone enjoy it. I would never enjoy my talents as much as I do if I never let them leave the garage. Corey, Kin, and Kon all come to stand behind me. We link hands and bow, and I lean up and kiss both Corey and Kon on the cheek since they are the two who stand at my sides.

Corey breathes in my ear: "That... was amazing." I blush.

We move off the stage after a while, and stage crew disassembles our gear for us. We watch the judges talk about us on a screen in the back room. The woman who spoke to us before we performed is a Native person with dark hair and defined eyebrows.

"Grojband is a talented highlight of tonight. The four members have connected with their music, their instruments, and with each other. Their passion radiated in the hearts of everyone who heard them tonight."

"That's correct." A dark-skinned man says. "Their lyrics aren't to be trifled with either. The second song, Rubicon, we've never heard anything like that before. I even saw you tear up in the middle of it-"

"-Yes, I was."

Corey, Kin, and Kon all whoop, and pull me into a hug. I laugh and high-five them all. Months of work and stress has paid off, and I am so excited. But not excited enough to not sit down beside our bus and pass out from sheer exhaustion.

They call us back around Ten O'Clock. It's late, and some people in the audience have left early to beat the traffic and the crowd rush. We stand in a long line on the stage, with the other contestants around us. Some of them congratulate us, but I don't know enough of their performances to return the thought.

They have standard awards to give out: Best voice, youngest contestant, oldest contestant. But the real prizes are, of course, first second and third, all in respective bronze, silver, and gold. We wait and try to contain our eagerness.

They give the standard awards out first. The pile disintegrates. The best voice goes to someone who went before us, Best notes go to someone after us. They read the awards off of a little white card and call us down. Everyone claps, and then they send us back again.

"Longest number." The announcer says. "Cra$hed." A bunch of black and white themed people with face paint saunters down to receive the trophy.

"Best lyrics." The announcer reads. "Grojband." Corey sways on his feet, and we hug each other before Kin and Kon decide to go down and grab the trophy. It's bigger than it looked from far away. It stands by itself and comes up to my knee. Corey looks at it with pride. We'll have to thank Rachel. After all, they were her lyrics. Kin and Kon get to run down two separate times. One is for best inner-band relationships, which congratulates us on our on-stage connection with each other. The other is for Most Emotional Performance. When Kin brings it back, he sets it down angled at my feet. I laugh and line it up with the other ones we've scored tonight, but it's clear they all think that one is mine.

The show moves on. At last, everyone stares at the three largest trophies. Some bands have not received any awards. I feel bad for them, but there will be other shows and other gigs for them to play.

"Third Place Overall." Everyone hushes their neighbors. "Art-I-Choked."

A band at the far end of the row bursts into tears and begin to hug each other. They run down and collect the bronze trophy as a team, where they lift it up together as someone snaps pictures.

"Second Place Overall." They call as soon as the previous team has returned. We quiet down. "Grojband."

Corey and I turn to each other and we begin to scream in ecstasy. Second place, Second Place! I kiss both his cheeks as if I were Antoinette and hug him tight. We whoop as a group as we walk down and pick up the glinting, frigid sliver. It is heavy and much larger than the other awards we earned. I blink back tears. This is for all the work we put in these last few months.

We don't get first, of course, but that's alright. "We'll do even better next time!" Corey swears. We laugh and agree. The judges shake our hands before we leave. The Native woman whispers: "That was the prettiest song I ever heard anyone sing."

I don't need her to tell me. I already know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs:
> 
> This Chapter contains the final transcripts for the songs I wrote. The first one is called The Moment I Fell in Love(Laney's memoir) and the second is the previously included Rubicon(Rachel's Memoir). These songs are currently protected under the guise all creators own their creations until sold/patented/etc and also protected under Wattpad Copyright. Other physical steps have been taken to ensure these lyric's safety.
> 
> I wrote this while I was suffering from back pain soooo, sorry for torturing you, Kin.
> 
> I was inspired by Judy Hopp's parents from Zootopia to give Laney a stay-awake bag.
> 
> Originally, Grojband only won two awards, but I decided to favor them.


	13. My Moment of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my goodness this chapter sucks! I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a good chapter, but my heart is breaking. A small chapter is next; it's the last one. I got this random idea today, so maybe I'll do a sequel. But a loose sequel. Like, six months after the events of this one and featuring Trina as a main character sort of thing. We'll see.
> 
> I'm happy with where this story ended. Did you know that when I finished the first draft that Antoinette had no ending? And neither did Bryson!
> 
> Today I want to show out the last beta-reader on my list and also my cousin. The last beta reader is SolsticeSummerMoon06.
> 
> SolsticeSummerMoon06 – Thanks for being so willing to beta read for me even if it didn't work out. I'm so sorry I had to drop you. It's was getting really hectic with so many beta readers to text and update! I wanted to acknowledge you in this story even though we never got around to truly partnering. It was an honor to work with you.
> 
> Cousin – Thanks for all the times you read this and pointed out mistakes while we waited on my brother! You've been super supportive in how patient you've been and I developed this and also how you corrected me. I love you!
> 
> I do not own Grojband.

I put my stuff on the bus back to Peaceville. The trophies come with separate Styrofoam packages for the ride, and we stow them on the bus as well. We're given our phones back before we leave. Each of us has messages from parents and close friends that tell us they watched the show and loved it. Rachel has sent me tons of texts, some that are simply the waterfall tears emoji, others that pass as essays.

Rachel found the video of the broadcast on Netflix and shared it with me. After we're settled on the bus, I open it and start to watch. I watch the first few and then skip forward to find our performance. Once I do, I lean over the seat to show the guys.

The first picture that appears is of the judges, who exchange glances as we answer questions. Some of them appear dubious and others pay us careful respect. The Native woman I saw when we walked off stage bites her cheek with a soft smile.

When the stage goes black for the first number, the cameras zoom out and pan the area. I see people as they wait, and when Kon starts to sing I see one of the judges raise her eyebrows. I know, there's power there that doesn't always show. After Kin and Kon's deep voices, Corey sounds almost childish as he comes in on the bridge after them. I see Corey wince beside me and know he hears it too. But by the time I start to sing my part of the second verse, he sounds deep and masculine again because my voice, which has gone girlish after months of practice this year, rounds out his voice. I sound feminine. That's a surprise.

Even though we're all sweaty and dumping water on ourselves and such, it somehow looks good on camera. Kin mentions it first. "Wow, Laney." He says. "Check you out." I know what he's referring to. My shirt sticks to my skin and my hair curled a little with all that dampness. For once I can't help but think that I, onstage, am hot. It's a breathtaking thought.

Kin looks like he's gained a few pounds, though the camera tends to do that to you. He doesn't look like a string bean anymore. And when Kon goes to town on his drums you can see his hair whip back and forth and it looks super cool. And Corey, well, I'm not exactly in a good state of mind to describe Corey but…

There is an awkward breath that forms between us as we all try to pretend we weren't admiring each other. Kon chuckles after some time and hisses: "I'm gonna be the first to say it guys, Laney slayed it out there." My face goes beet red. Corey and Kin both let out shaky laughs.

"I'm glad you said it first," Corey says. He won't meet my gaze, but he does rewind the video a little. There's a little shot of me as I slide across the stage near the end of Rubicon with my head thrown back. "Look at her form here." He says.

"True." Kin mumbles. My face goes deeper red.

We impressed the judges after the first song, but when we crash the stage with Rubicon, I watch some of the judges' cry. I look in-tune with the audience, and my appearance sells the show. I threw my gut into that song. It's dedicated to Rachel and she did most of it, but some part of my heart will always lie with the words. After our performance, one judge stands up and leaves with black make-up caked on his cheeks. Beside me, Kon starts to cry too. We elbow him, but the mood remains.

We swept the stage with that song.

We spend the hour-long drive wasting my phone data in order to find the group who won first place. We finally find them about five minutes before we reach Corey's house. After I see them, we can see why they won first. Three of their band members can break-dance. While four guys play instruments, they scream their song and dance. It sounds lame in context, but with the firecrackers and screamo music and the shrill thrill of it all, it's cool. I am proud to have lost to such talented individuals. Corey does lean over and mutters: "We need to learn to break-dance for our next show." I don't know what he expects me to do. Bryson and I broke off.

My parents are parked outside Corey's house, along with Kin and Kon's parents. The cars are empty, and the porch lights are on. I didn't realize other parents did that too. I thought it was just my mom.

The bus parks in view of the front door. A gold rectangle of light appears as someone opens the door. A large, broad man with squarish shoulders appears as he runs out to meet the bus. The twin's dad. Both Kin and Kon push down the windows to wave to him as their mom runs out with her arms in the air.

The driver unloads our things as we reunite with our families. It's a lot of hugs and screams together. At one-point mom crushes me to her side and screams: "You did it! You did it! You did it!" We show off the loving silver Second Place and Standard Awards trophies, and debate where to put them. The obvious choice is in the garage, where we worked together for years. But Rachel helped us on this one, and it's clear her soul doesn't have reign over itself in the garage. I say she should take the best lyrics trophy, but she laughs, and says: "The lyrics weren't all mine though."

After much debate, we all agree to put the silver Second Place in the garage, where we can look at it as we practice. We'll split up the other trophies between us. Corey nonchalantly places the Best Performance award at my feet. Kon's parents and my mom all doll over us. They all have clips of the show and keep rewinding to show us their favorite parts.

I love this thrill, I do, but nothing will ever compare to being up there on that stage. Rachel keeps turning around to beam at me, and she, too, is happy with the way things turned out.

"Hey, Laney!" She says. "Listen to this. New York Times said: 'One of the most notable performances was that of Grojband's Rubicon, where the band's assisting singer, bassist, and producer Laney Penn sang the entire song. Tears were shed as the heartbreaking anthem was played for the first time. If Grojband has a new album planned, we can't wait to hear if it'll hold half as much punch as Rubicon did tonight.'"

"A new album?" Kon asks over my shoulder. "But we don't have any plans for an album."

"I dunno," I tell him. "We've got a few songs.

"I mean, sure, if you plan to release an album with two songs," Kin says.

"I have some. I'll show you later." I admit. Kin blinks and stares a little, but then he shrugs and accepts it.

We agree that the trophy needs a place to sit, but since it is much too big for a shelf, we decide to build a platform later. Which leads to us all agreeing to leave our trophies here to create platforms for them all. For now, Corey's dad runs upstairs to grab a few small crates with which we can make a makeshift platform. They're up in the attic, and he soon calls down for help because a large and heavy crate has blocked the doorway. Despite the noise, Trina's door stays shut.

"Hey Corey," Rachel asks. "Where's your sister?"

"At Mina Beff's." Says Corey. He touches the trophy, as though he is still afraid it will disappear in a poof of smoke. I put my arm on his shoulder in a daring move and lean on him.

"It's real Core," I tell him. He laughs in relief.

"Yeah… it is." We lock eyes, and a sudden blast of inspiration hits me. This would be a perfect time to ask him out. After all the courage it took to be onstage, this should be nothing!

"Hey Core," I begin. My tone must have a special crisp to it. Kin, Kon, and Rachel all share a glance and then avert their eyes. Kin pushes his glasses up his nose.

"One second Lanes." He says and breaks the eye contact. He looks at the trophy, and then over at Rachel.

"Rachel, I wanted to ask you a question again." He gushes. Kin goes white, and Kon's mouth drops open. My mouth is open too, a piece of citrus-orange gum stuck to the top of my mouth. Rachel looks startled.

Corey goes over and takes both her hands. He goes down on his knees, and it's like I'm stuck in another cheesy movie scene. Where you see the love-struck look in his eyes before the camera pans out and you can see me, flabbergasted.

"Rachel, I like you a lot. You're smart and intelligent, and beautiful. You've told me no before, but I want to ask again. Will you please go out with me?"

This time, it isn't my heart that breaks up. It's my entire essence. I myself disintegrate into the void, and I fade out of space and time as I wait for her answer along with him.

She stares in shock and looks around at Kin and Kon's sickened expressions. Another two emotions cross her face: shame and embarrassment. She will say yes, she will say yes, she will say yes.

"No!" She shouts and rips her hands out of his. "No! Stop! Are you blind? Can you not see her?" She gestures over at me. Her voice rises higher, and higher. Her voice is out of tune and she trembles in shame. Her hands find a place on her face as she tries to cover the tear, and she looks away. "Corey Riffin, I don't want to go out with you! Let me be!"

She begins to cry and scratches at her cheeks as she tries to stop the tears. Her eyes meet mine and a million bits of information travel between us in seconds. We always come back to this, somehow. She and I stare each other down as we try to reach for each other over the same idiotic young man that tears us apart.

She is so ashamed. So ashamed of herself. I see in her eyes how she wants to leave, and hide, and crawl under a rock. She is sick of this endless cycle.

She leaves. It's a flurry of her tiny feet and tiny breaths, and she leaves.

In less than two minutes we've obliterated everything we've built up over the last few months. Corey's heart shattered again, mine worse than his. Kin and Kon, who has somehow become entangled in the midst of our drama, have picked sides and look sickened with the outcome. Neither of them looks at Corey, though he looks at all us for reassurance.

I shove my hands onto my hips to search for my pockets, but that's the thing about leggings. I swallow and fold my arms.

"What did I do wrong?" Corey whispers to all us. I turn my head towards the garage door, and I know he's watching me – I'm her cousin after all.

"You asked." Kin hisses. His voice seethes with rage I didn't know Kin could hold. My eyes snap to his frame. He's balled his fists and he's shaking. "You asked, she answered, and you forced her into a corner for the second time. Congrats mate, you screwed up. You ruined tonight." Kin drags a finger down the side of the trophy. It no longer feels like a dream. It's just a metal trophy for a show that is now in the past. Time to move to the next thing.

"Guys," I say. It's a weak plea and it sounds like I'm begging them not to fight. In truth, I'm begging them not to say anymore. They will throw my feelings at him if I don't guard them.

Corey shrinks back like a kicked puppy. His dad appears in the door. "Hey guys, I found these cool cubes! They'll work as a platform for now." He takes in our solemn expressions. "Hey, what happened?"

Mom appears over his shoulder. She takes in the room and says: "Rachel."

I nod. "Rachel," I confirm. I hug Kin and Kon and tell them: "Thanks for a good night" as Mom vanishes out the door. I look at Corey, and he looks at my feet. I walk out. There is still a spirit of celebration among most of the adults, but for us teens, it has evaporated.

I end up sitting on Corey's front steps among our instruments. The air I breathe is a cloud of smog the bus left behind. I don't cry, because I have no tears left for that oblivious fool of a boy.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Rachel is gone all the next day. I don't know where. Could be meetings for her book, or she could have driven off and decided not to come back. I wouldn't blame her. I, unfortunately, have to go back to Corey's house. He's asked us to help build a platform out of these little 3 inches by 3-inch decorative boxes his dad has.

The boxes have little crosses on each side inside a wood border frame. Corey wants to sand them and stain them and polish them. It's a good idea if a little too Pinterest-y for Corey.

Also, my instrument is still at his house, so yeah, I kind of have to pick that up.

I walk to Corey's, which I haven't done in years. I usually take the bus home with him or have mom drive me. I take a poufy marshmallow coat and no scarf. My cheeks are pink by the time I reach his stairs. I let myself in, and creep into the garage. It's transformed into a whirl of wood dust. Kin's broken out an electric sander. He must have gotten it back when I was giving him two bucks a day to build his crazy inventions. Ah, middle-school memories.

Corey smiles to see me. "Hey, Laney. You look nice today." He compliments me. I blink. What brought this on?

"Hey, Core," I say as I take off my coat to reveal grubby, old clothing. Corey nods his approval. Kin and Kon are sanding, and it looks like Corey is staining each individual block. I join him, and sometimes our hands brush when I lean with my paintbrush to reach the stain.

"What're you thinking of?" I ask after a minute. It's clear he's got something on his mind – he's sticking his tongue out, focusing on more than the task at hand.

"I've got a crazy idea that just might work." Corey declares.

"Wow, you haven't said that in ages," Kin says. Kon doesn't say a word, only gazes at Corey with pinched lips. Is he… giving Corey the cold shoulder?

"Yeah!" Corey cheers.

"So, what's the gig Core?" I ask as I examine the stain on one block.

"I thought: Hey since you know Rachel so well, you could give me advice on how to win her over and then ask her out later?" Corey says with hopeful eyes.

"That won't work," I say immediately.

"Wait, aren't you supposed to go along with my crazy plan until it becomes clear it won't work and then- "

"You want me to sell out Rachel because you can't take no for an answer?" Silence rules over the garage. I set down my paintbrush. The sound of the paint dripping echoes and Corey seems to have realized he has made a grave mistake.

"Wait, I didn't mean it like that!" He protests.

"Corey you idiot," Kon says. The twins turn off the sanding machine in disgust. Kin sighs and shakes his head.

I brush my hands on my clothes and stand up. "I'd better go," I say. There is no emotion to it, only a dryness to my throat and a sickness in my stomach.

"No, wait!" He calls as he stands up and reaches out to catch my arm. I pull free and reach for my coat. "What'd I do wrong, why can't you help me with this?"

I make it to the doorway before he catches my arm again. I try to be as non-dramatic as possible as I turn around and whisper: "Core, let go."

"Laney?" He asks.

I roll my eyes and bury my upset underneath a mountain of sass. "Listen to me Core, I can't help you. You're fighting a losing battle, and you never even tried to understand."

"Help me understand."

"No. I won't help you." Tears sting my eyes, it's about time. "I won't help because – " I wrench my arm from his grasp. "-I love you. I've loved you for a long time. I'm sorry Core." He drops his arm in quiet shock. I turn and slip outside. So much for no drama.

Down the hallway, out through the yard, and down the street, I walk. I don't want to go back. I don't want to know if the point finally sank through in Corey's head. I don't want to know how Kin and Kon reacted. I don't want to go home either. The place won't be as warm with the absence of Rachel, and if she's there the sight of her will be unbearable.

I walk down the street and walk my own route until the sidewalk beneath my feet is no longer familiar. Black ice crusts the edges of the snow on the streets.

A cold breeze blows through my hair and pushes it into my face. The red strands have gotten longer. I fish in my pocket for an elastic and pull my hair back.

I pull my jacket tight and zip my coat up. It's so cold outside my breath doesn't even crystallize. It freezes solid and drops to the ground.

I wander the streets with my phone shut down. When the sky goes grayer than normal, I turn back around and head home.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the driveway, Rachel's car sits. I stand and stare at it for a long time, but I know I will have to face her. Her and Corey, but hopefully not together. I swallow, and my feet search for the steps independent of my command.

I trudge up the steps and shuffle into the hallway. Soft jazz music plays. That isn't what Rachel likes to listen to. I poke my head into her room. The light is soft and highlights the furniture in her room. Four or five suitcases all sit on her bed, open and stuffed with clothing. Some are fuller than others.

"What's this?" I gasp as I step inside and look around. She jumps from where she bends over a suitcase and squashes her puffy jacket as small as she can force it.

"Laney." She says. We stand for a space of time, and then she says: "The boys all came over to look for you."

I shrug. "I'll talk to them later," I say as I examine the room. Her closet doors are open, every wall outlet occupied with plugs and chargers. Draped over a chair are several scarves, jackets, jeans, shirts, and underclothes. Her passport and open phone sit on her nightstand.

"Are you leaving?" I ask. My heart drops.

She sighs and sits on a corner of her bed. She looks exhausted. Her eyebrows sink into her eyes. Her pretty shoulders that have danced thousands of waltzes slump forward with unseen weight. Her eyes fill with tears. "I can't stay here Laney." Her voice breaks. "I've tried too long and too hard… Nothing will ever change."

"But it might!" I protest as I go to stand beside her. "It might- you can't leave." I start to choke on my own words and the syllables jumble themselves on their way out of my mouth. She stands back up and puts her arms around me.

"Oh Laney, it's been six months and people still stare when I walk past. I hoped the news would grow old in such a small town, but people still take double looks. I still can't stand without having someone touch me." She swallows. "Nothing will ever change. Even Corey couldn't."

"I'll talk to him!" I blurt out. I will, even after what happened. "I'll yell at him, I'll – I'll make him understand!"

"You can't do that." She hums. "If I could, I would have forced him to stop ages ago. We can't make other people's choices for them Laney." She laughs with a choke. "Besides, I'm the only thing blinding him from you at this point." She guides me over to her chair, laden with clothes. "If I leave… I hope he'll wake up?"

I can't see anything but watery blurs. Is this the universe's way of laughing at me after my months of stress? "I don't want him." I cry. "If I have to give you up."

Rachel pats my hand. "Believe me sugar, if the universe worked like that I would have traded my face for a few people who would be there. I'm so sick of being nothing but a pretty face."

I swallow the five or six lumps in my throat. "You are so much more than a pretty face, or a driver, or even a cousin to me. You're the sister I never knew I needed so much."

Rachel begins to cry, and I sink out of the chair and she falls beside her bed with me, and we sob our broken hearts away. I want to treasure the moment because I know how it will never return. In this room was where she first spoke German to me, let me try her chocolates, and showed me the trinkets from her trips. She has done my makeup and my nails in this room, and I fell asleep listening to her music from here. I remember how alone it felt when she left for Vienna. Oh god, I will never hear her sing in this room again. I will never watch her shadow waltz around the bed. Her phone will never buzz with threats or sappy comments in this house again. Mom will go back to pulling a mug for Dad, a mug for me, a mug for herself, and a mug for Rachel off the shelf. She'll always have to put one of them back.

My heart feels like it wants to cough itself up and go back in time to the happier times of yesterday.

Rachel will never cough on the syrup-sweet soda pop again. She'll never walk out of her room looking like a supermodel again. We won't go buy lunch when our schedules allow it. She'll never show up to our band gigs. She won't even be here when I wander down the stairs to work on lyrics on the front table. Things of hers will be gone from around the house. Her favorite cherry-red wedges, and her cherry red laptop. Her copy of the German translation of the Phantom of the Opera. Schoolwork and paperwork will vanish in one fell swoop. She will leave us behind as soft as she appeared.

If she leaves now, I will never find answers to the questions I have.

"Rachel." I cough with a dry throat. "I wrote most of The Moment I Fell in Love, and we know what that is about, but you wrote the Rubicon. What is it about?"

There is a stillness in her movements. She runs her fingers through my hair and removes the messy ponytail I put in earlier today. There is even a silence in the way she hums.

"It was many years ago." She tells me. "And I was young. Twelve. I was pretty too." She stops for a breath. "Pretty vain as well. I still am vain, but I try. From the time I was… what? Nine? Ten? People's eyes… clung. And I was young and petty, and I thought it was cool."

"My father worked with a bunch of high-end businessmen, and one of them had a son whose name was Elam. Elam was older than me, but he was nice and handsome, and we'd grown up with each other. I trusted him. All the girls liked Elam, but I didn't like anyone, and I didn't understand why. Later I learned it's because I'm aromantic. But anyway, I pretended I liked Elam so that people wouldn't think I was weird because I didn't like him. I cared a lot about people's opinions."

Rachel pulls her hair around her shoulder and trails her fingers through my locks. "There was a party." She recalls. Her eyes stare at the wall, but she sees a picture that is not visible. Something that is stuck in her past. "It was warm outside. There were lanterns on strings, and all of Honduras was aglow. I stood with all my friends on top of a building, and we had adult drinks; it was a load of fun. There was music, and there who people dancing, and I remember my father laughed when Elam and I walked past him." She closes her eyes as she concentrates on the memory. "He put a drug in my drink. I felt woozy, and the world tilted on its hinges. We went out to dance, and I couldn't remember where I was. Holes appeared in my memory. And when he said he wanted to go up on top of a nearby building under the stars I didn't think about it."

She falls silent as she sorts her thoughts. I am still and scared for a Rachel that went through this years ago. She lets out a breath.

"I still see the stars." She tells me. "The lanterns, the pretty lights of the nearby houses. My hands wouldn't work and I couldn't speak well enough to tell him no. Afterwards he walked me home and I went upstairs to cry in my room. Only heaven knows where he is now because I don't. Dad always talked about travel, so when I told him I wanted to go away, he was only too happy to oblige. We went to Europe, and I was grateful because that meant I would never see him again. And that worked pretty well, except there were others who were unkinder. People thought if they said the right words, the 'magic words', that my persona would fall. In truth, every girl wants someone to love them, right?" She shrugs.

"That's awful," I whisper.

"You get used to it." She murmurs. "Don't let my story ruin you though. People are all different."

"Where will you go?"

"Somewhere." She shrugs. "There's inspiration in the Pacific Islands for people like me; writers, truth-seekers, artists. But I love Germany, and I've always wanted to visit Russia." She smiles over at me and raises a defined eyebrow. "Don't worry though. A piece of my heart will always remain here, in Canada." She stands up and picks up a travel bag. "That is," She continues. "Unless your band takes off and you start to travel." She puts her hand down and helps pull me to my feet. I stand on wobbly legs as I wipe my face.

"If we do take off, and you're ever there in the city, will you-"

"Oh Laney, do you even need to ask?" She chuckles. As she starts to fold a shirt up, her eyes flick to the doorway. She tucks the shirt in her suitcase and I follow her gaze. Blue hair, orange beanie. Corey looks around the room at all the suitcases and doesn't say a word. Rachel finishes filling one of her suitcases and zips it up. She wheels it past Corey and heads downstairs.

"Hey," He says.

"Hey," I say.

"So, um," He tries to begin. "I want to, um, fix this. But I don't know how."

"Fix what, exactly?" I ask as I sit down on the edge of Rachel's bed.

"I already said sorry to Rachel, and I know I can't say anything that'll stop her from leaving, but I need to say sorry to you somehow…?" He trails off. I keep quiet, so he tries to start again. "I mean, I realize I put you through a lot, and I'm sorry. And the thing is, I don't like you like that. You're my best friend, but I don't see you as anything more than a friend right now."

"I should ask again, to put you through the same torment you put Rachel though," I say in a bland tone. That was spiteful of me, I know. I wince. He hangs his head in shame and wanders into the room to sit beside me.

I sigh and try to start over. "Sorry. Yeah, I understand. That's cool. Thanks for being honest." As soon as the words leave my mouth, a sense of calmness fills me. Is this what closure feels like? I want to bottle this feeling and use it on stressful days.

"We could like, try a date?" He suggests. "See if anything's there."

I shake my head. "I don't want you to date me out of pity."

"Well, I mean, you are my best friend. And they say that people who start as best friends tend to work out the most in the end. And, I'll be honest: I felt something extraordinary when we were on stage yesterday. We were all covered in sweat and it was gross I know, but you looked at me when you sang that first song and I saw something in you I forget to look for in other people. And then you blasted Rubicon out of the park and… there might be something there if we want to give it a go."

"Sounds realistic." I agree with a blush. "Glad to see we're not being dramatic about it."

"Yeah." He nods. "It's nice being honest. I worried I'd hurt you or something."

"It's not possible for me to hurt over anything right now." I chuckle.

"You say that now, but watch: she'll leave and we'll all cry over her."

"I know."

We look up at each other, and he is right. It is easier without the secrets, without me trying to hide how I like him and without drawing out the drama. Life is simple until we complicate it.

"What will we do without her?" I ask. We will all miss her, but she helped us with lyrics. Trina leave for college soon, how will we put words in our songs?

"We don't need her to write for us. As I understand, we've got a killer songwriter in the band already."

"Who?"

"You." He says. He elbows me and smiles like he just told a joke.

I scoff. "I managed to write The Moment I Fell in Love, but she wrote Rubicon. I can't do that."

"Well six months ago you couldn't have even written The Moment I fell in Love."

"True." I acknowledge. He smiles. I smile back. He's right. Maybe it's time for me to step to the plate. After all, I have ideas and resources. I feel like I've been… awakened.

We sit in silence with half-smiles frozen to our cheeks and stare at the closet, all cleaned out. I recognize the beret and the wide-brimmed floppy hat she pulled out several months ago. She's already packed up most of her closet now though.

The room is colder somehow. It's like she's already gone.

Not even my best friend can fill the gap my sister has left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs:
> 
> My favorite part of being in plays or shows when I was a teenager was getting my device back after a show and seeing all the messages my friends blew up my phone with while I was disconnected. I wanted to open the chapter with that.
> 
> I might as well admit that I based the judges off of Simon Cowell's crew on X Auditions and America/Britain's Got Talent.
> 
> I mentioned the bit about Laney's voice being super feminine because for the longest time people told me I had the most girlish voice they'd ever heard.
> 
> Me describing the cold Laney is walking in is also me sitting in the cold over a mile from my house at four in the morning in the dead of winter. Which has happened several times due to my stubbornness. That's all the deats you'll get, probably.
> 
> Guys, they're high-schoolers. I've heard about a million kids tell me that they're totally in love only to eventually break up. Corey and Laney are sophomores, aka 15/16. And right now one of them is in emotional turmoil and the other only cares about the band. Plus, Corey's still crushing on Rachel. Crushes don't go away like that. So, for now, they're friends who might hang out independently (Aka a date) because "When you are young you can lose it all and still have something. And when you find love, you can risk the fall for nothing. One day you'll grow like everyone but now you are young." – Young, by Raelynn


	14. I've Got No Clue; Gotta Get Out of Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. Thanks for sticking with the ride.
> 
> Mom – I was complaining to my friends because everything I seemed to write about you didn't feel like a quarter of what you deserved. I love you so, so freaking much. If you have any concept of how much Rachel and Laney adored each other, I love you twenty thousand times more than that. I love you so much that when I think about it words just go away. The English Language doesn't have a word for how much respect I have for you. You make me feel Gemütlichkeit.
> 
> Dad – Thank you so much for being able to be that rock to pull me back to shore. I decided to take all the swear words and overly vulgar descriptions out of this when you pointed out that that wasn't me. I love you so much and even though I don't say it a lot I'm grateful for all the things you're trying to make better for us. I know life is tough right now, but I'm proud of you for being able to keep going and still set an example.
> 
> I don't own Grojband but I do own my heart.

Two days later, Rachel pushes the last suitcase into her car.

Just like that, the house is free of Rachel's stuff. She wanders back up the steps to the house, where Mom, Dad, Kin, Kon, Corey and I all stand and watch. A large white garbage sack is slung over her shoulder.

"Um, so I guess this is it." She says. Mom sniffles behind me.

"I um," She holds up the sack of stuff. "I cleaned out some clothes out of my closet. I thought you'd like them, Laney?" I reach forward and take the bag. We stand for a minute until I drop the bag on the concrete and wrap my arms around her.

"I'm going to miss you." My voice cracks.

"Me too." She pulls back after a second. "I have one more thing for you too." She reaches into a bag she has by her side and procures a hardback book with a glossy cover. Her name is on the front, along with the title "A Piece of Me". An accurate title for anything someone works hard to give away. A book, a song, a lot of time and love. It's a parcel, a friendship, kind of.

I ought to write that one down.

"It'll be out in the United States next week." She murmurs.

"You don't waste time." I chuckle and wipe my eyes. "I have a present for you too." I reach into my pocket. "Happy Birthday tomorrow." It's a good thing that my order came in early because Rachel isn't going to stick around for her birthday. I reveal a small box. She opens it with minimal flourish and pulls out a small link bracelet.

"It's got a bunch of charms in the bottom compartment," I explain. "Some are standard order, but I requested a few originals. Now you can attach the things you love and wear your heart on your wrist."

She laughs, looks at the charms, and pulls one out. She attaches it, puts the bracelet on and shows me. I squint to read my name inscribed on the side of the charm. 'Laney'.

We all hug her goodbye, Mom kisses her on the cheek, and we watch as she walks to her car.

She opens the door and looks back at us, and someone's hands intertwine with mine. I look up and see Corey meet my eyes before we both turn our attention back to Rachel.

My cousin blows a single kiss, climbs in the car, and closes the door. Her blue Sirocco turns out of the house for the last time, and she disappears down the street. The emptiness of losing someone fills me up.

Corey lets go of my hand as I sit down on the front porch. Everyone heads inside as I open the cover of A Piece of Me. The dedication page reads: 'To my father, my Aunt and Uncle, and my cousin Laney, who were the only people who saw me.' She's signed her name on the page in purple sparkly pen and dotted the 'I' in Barabossi with a heart.

I turn to the first page and read: "A breath of fresh air is understanding a problem. Learning you have a problem is like losing the ability to breathe. The good news is this: One always follows the other in balance, and afterward you learn to use the air and sing."

And after six months of Rachel, I couldn't agree anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter Eggs and Dedication Notes.
> 
> My aunts give me clothes whenever they clean out their closets and I love it because then you can have a little fashion show where you try everything on and it doesn't matter how much you actually keep because there is no Y=Money Spent.
> 
> I hope you like the 'heart on my sleeve' symbolism. Totally put that in there last-minute.
> 
> Did I end the story with the same quote as when I started it? Yes, yes I did.
> 
> Originally this story had ten chapters. Also, Bryson was originally just dating Laney because he wanted to get to know Rachel, and also Rachel had to resue Laney after Laney walked away from Corey's house in the last chapter. I deleted that due to vulgarity.
> 
> Rachel is created in the image of Reese Witherspoon. She is dedicated to those who feel they have to act a certain way because of societal restrictions. This doesn't just apply to people who are transgender, are not heterosexual, or who are set apart from a crowd by how they choose to dress or look. This is also for the normal people who feel subdued in crowds and who bite their feelings back in shame. Also she's wicked smart and not very good at homely things because that's what one of my own redheaded friends are like.
> 
> Cleo – Dedicated to a girl who took her life in my middle school years. The girl's name was Kaylee, and that's why I picked the name Cleopatra. It starts with a 'kuh' sound, Cleopatra is famous historically for her suicide, and it radiated worth and importance. Cleo is also dedicated to anyone who has tried to commit suicide, whether they failed or succeeded.
> 
> Antoinette is dedicated to my friends because I basically wrote their personalities into hers. She's bisexual because two of my friends are bisexual, she dresses gothic because a different one of my friends does, she goes to rehab because I have had many friends who needed to do that, and she's wicked amazing because that's what all my friends are.
> 
> Bryson – Is dedicated to those wonderful young men who respect people's rights to say no. Bless your souls even if we miss your friendship.
> 
> Laney's mom and dad – Are not based off my parents. Just, by the way. But they're dedicated to people who work hard to support others. Proud of u guys.

**Author's Note:**

> Rachel Barabossi's personality is based off my own. I designed her appearance after Reese Witherspoon on Legally Blonde.
> 
> Laney's personality is based off of one of my friends who's going through some times. Laney's plush blanket is actually mine IRL.
> 
> There is, of course, both a Harry Potter and a ABBA reference in this story. I threw it in so you could get an idea of what these two characters value.
> 
> For those of you who hate TS, sorry. That aspect of Rachel is from me and my cousin. Do check out that one song though. Once you know the words the beat makes you COME ALIVE.
> 
> Rachel's car is based off one my dad had.
> 
> Aunt Bess is based off some people I've seen on both Pinterest and Facebook. I don't know any of them. They're featured in those memes that make you roll your eyes. Believe it or not, almost ALL of Laney's inner dialogue are things I heard spoken in the school locker rooms.
> 
> Interested in more stories by me? I have parallel accounts on Archive of our Own, Wattpad, and Fanfiction/Fictionpress.


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